Harry Potter and the Lost Flash
by Element's Sole Protector
Summary: Life sharply interrupts Harry's grief - with Albus's love and guidance, he must resist Voldemort's reign of terror and strike fear into the Dark Lord. Hostile villagers, time-travelers and trickery dominate a sixth year like nothing you've ever seen.
1. A Malefic Plot

**~Guess what, guys? I'm editing my chapters!~**

Oh happy day! No longer will you have to deal with the embarrassment of how the beginning looks and reads. Element's Sole Protector is on the case!

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I did, but I _know_ J.K. Rowling didn't make _this_ many mistakes when she created this wonderful world.

**Pairings:** ...They're not canon. They will be canon at first in some areas, but they will not end up this way. You will be upset by this. But, hopefully, since romance does not dominate the story, you will not hit the Back button in a rush, huffing "God, what a RETARD!!! I'm not reading one more word she types!!!".

**Summary: **Harry is mourning Sirius and resisting Voldemort's wrath--Dumbledore is trying to sort out new, raw feelings--and even Voldemort is experiencing rocky new changes. And what does a secret organization of Flash Searchers have to do with anything? Sixth year is a wild ride...

I warned you now. Don't say I didn't _x_ amount of chapters later.

(**In memory of Michael Jackson, who died only yesterday. I will miss him. In memory of Farrah Fawcett, who I did not know but would have been privileged to know.**)

_Please_ review my babies! Reviews are the ink for my pen…and I need a refill…

* * *

**Harry Potter and the Lost Flash**

* * *

_Welcome to the journey_.

* * *

Chapter One: A Malefic Plot

* * *

"Let it not be said that I do not...keep my word. Eh?"

Within this tightly-knit circle, every last Death Eater laughed.

One arriving Death Eater in particular brought a young boy to the center of the chilly, forbidding circle; once they got there, the boy turned and spat into the unseen face of his captor.

"Dirty little...! Thought we could trust you..._you slime!_"

"It is dangerous for you to think, Jonathan--I thought you knew that?" The man's voice, though a murmur, was smooth and layered.

Jonathan sneered and spat at the man's feet.

Another, shaking hand reached out and gripped the boy's flimsy wrist; even Jonathan, who might have normally been described as quite weak, could tell that overpowering this man would be simple. The only problem: about sixteen wands would obliterate him from existence without thought.

And _that_ wasn't counting--

"How nice of you to join us--it is Jonathan, I believe?"

Lord Voldemort.

His voice was sibilant but, strangely, smooth as silk, much like his captor's--it reminded Jonathan of a pond near his home, where the rapidly-moving water was silent as it slid over stones small and large.

"An odd thought to have, especially so near death," the Dark Lord pondered, and Jonathan pushed the vile presence out of the recesses of his mind, gasping. He was suddenly angrier than he'd been seconds ago; it swallowed any possible fear.

"_You_ shall not speak to one of _my_ status, vermin!"

A short pause.

"An interesting speech," Voldemort murmured, twirling his yew wand. "_Crucio_!"

Jonathan fell to the ground, but his screams came only from within; those of _his_ kind did not show their pain to any sort of adversity, _ever_.

This seemed to annoy the majority of the Death Eaters (that and the fact that he knew their lot loosely and they knew _nothing_ of him), who muttered threateningly and shifted restlessly. But not one, even the more arrogant ones, stirred. They were angry but not irrational; everyone knew that for the Inner Circle, Outer circle, any Circle of Lord Voldemort's, to dare defy the Master was suicidal.

Now the Dark Lord whistled tunelessly. "Who do you believe you are? One so important that yours would come and rescue you?" His wand went back and forth between his hands, but not in a menacing way.

Jonathan realized, with a thrill of fear, that _he'd made Lord Voldemort curious_.

_Well,_ he thought, _I've always been a good storyteller. Might as well indulge myself, seeing as I've nothing better to do..._

"You don't know who we are for a reason."

"Oh-h-h-h?" He stretched the word out needlessly.

Jonathan smirked and straightened--it seemed not_ all_ of his magic had left him.

Who would have ever guessed he'd need his flair for storytelling?

"If you did..." He faltered, now, feeling his first twinge of sadness. "If you did, you would know that...none of mine will come for me."

It pained him to admit it in more ways than one. He missed his fellows terribly, most importantly--and it removed the birthing seed of fear he'd sensed he had planted in Lord Voldemort when he'd said "_my_ status". He knew exactly what his new enemy had been thinking at that moment: _If he can openly defy me--what does that mean he is?_

That advantage was now gone. The Dark Lord knew no powerful friends would come to his captive's aid, so...

_Hard way it is, then_.

"_But_--I am a Senser, which means you're in trouble anyway. I know what you're seeking, _Lord _Voldemort."

"_What_?" The red eyes narrowed; the lipless mouth tensed. He was marble-white, though it was impossible to tell if it were from rage or if it was, as usual, natural.

_I've got him now._

"You know what I'm talking about. Need I party the information around to your lessers?"

Jonathan turned to his former captor, the slime who had carted him here. "I'll bet _you_ are one of his most trusted servants, eh? Top of the Death Eaters and all that? Well..."

His voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper.

"...Do _you_ know of the Lost Flash?"

Voldemort's sudden scream was shrill and (just barely) panicked; he was not skilled enough to hide it.

"_Silence!_"

Jonathan's former captor twitched; and once again the boy shielded himself from a mental attack--_stronger_, he noticed, _than his master's._

But "I guess they _don't_ know," was all he said.

"I said _silence_! --Wormtail!"

Jonathan's second, weaker captor stepped nervously (if quickly) forward and pointed his own wand at the boy. His arm shook as he uttered, "_I-Imperio_..."

A thin, orange aura surrounded Jonathan very suddenly, and the spell seemed to bounce right off.

Jonathan started to laugh.

"_Quiet! Imperio!_"

Once again the boy laughed as the orange aura blocked every possible entry. Even Voldemort's own casting was not strong enough to break through his shield.

"Sensers are immune to such trifles as the Imperius Curse! Just like your _other _enemies, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter..."

Such trembles and twitches of rage befell the Dark Lord then, at that statement, that Jonathan knew those names had had the perfect effect on him; he did not know _what_ to say or _how_ to feel now.

_If this keeps up, perhaps I can escape after all..._

He rambled on. "_How _many times have they defied you now? Counting birth, I believe...hmmm...five times for Mr. Potter... And I have heard tell of battles upon battles that occurred between you and the other before my birth...perhaps twenty or more! And all twenty-plus times, Professor Dumbledore has bested you and kept his temper! Ha, my mother used to say he was such a saint he didn't _have_ a temper..."

He stopped himself from going into a childhood reverie. _That's right...the Temperless One. That is how he is known there._

Now Voldemort was gnashing his teeth. His scarlet eyes were wide and depthless; his breathing and that of the boy's were in a strange syncopation.

"_Crucio! Crucio! Cru--_"

Jonathan prepared to hit the ground and not get up again for quite a while, but two of the red beams did not seem to be meant for him just now.

He got once again to his feet, spat a disturbing amount of blood, then looked toward the Death Eaters Voldemort had attacked; all perilously close to him.

_What...?_

"Avery! Goyle! And _dear _Narcissa... This boy is mine to torture. _I_ sensed his presence, and so _I _will finish him off. Interfere again and I may need my Imperius Curse for _other_ matters...!"

_Narcissa Malfoy! I've heard about her! ...Wow, she's trembling..._

His other captor, the one called "Wormtail", interrupted his train of thought rather rudely; he gripped him again and nearly shoved him into another man--as he turned to fight him off, another man's low, rough hiss reached his ears, teasing and cruel. This, Jonathan knew in a split second, was the kind of man who enjoyed torturing children.

"_Levicor_--"

"_Avada Kedavra_."

A scream that was undeniably an adult's came and went as the dreaded green light shot over two heads and hit a taller, thicker body behind them. He collapsed slowly, as if in a deathly sort of daze.

A low moan sounded in two throats; Jonathan's and the Death Eater's who went to the dead man's side, shaking him fruitlessly.

"Oh no oh no oh _no_..."

Goyle Senior was dead, and it was Crabbe Senior who knelt, sobbing softly, beside his closest friend.

"No, no, _please_ no..."

Jonathan was frozen in fear and terror and disbelief. Hardly an adult, he had never been allowed to fight or see the dead, much less tending to them as that poor, lonely-looking man was doing...

_Those eyes...those cold, empty eyes..._

His mind was spinning. He couldn't say the word "dead" aloud, couldn't _think _of it at all for too long or else... He longed for his friends, even one of them... he missed his Avöy, his teacher...and he wanted nothing more at the moment than his family, _right now_...!

Jonathan was hovered over the nearby grass and brush and retching before he knew it.

Someone gripped his shoulders and hoisted him up; the fingers were a female's. Shock would have had him reeling, but he was too sick to contemplate shock.

"Mrs. ...Malfoy..." he gasped, trembling despite himself.

She gripped his wrist painfully, but her voice--to the shock of any listener who knew her--was gentle. "He says 'he's sorry'."

"Who? Voldemort? He will be soon."

Narcissa flinched, then pointed toward the boy's captor--and for the third time that evening, Jonathan gazed at the man--but now loathing was gone, replaced by curiosity. The man seemed to be--_was he slipping off? Was he mad?_

"Where is he going?" He could not keep the question down.

Narcissa shrugged. "Beats me."

"Liar."

Not surprisingly, they were promptly interrupted. "_Jonathan_..."

The boy flinched as Voldemort glided over, pushed away the suddenly silent Malfoy wife and put his arm around him; and the Death Eaters' silence deepened eerily.

"Where is Severus, Lestrange?"

Yet another man stepped forward, forgetting to kneel at Voldemort's feet (had he noticed, the man would have been eating dirt at that moment). "He has just left, My Lord--"

"Not _tha_--"

"My Lord" stopped dead, noticed whom he was holding, and faltered with a sickly smile that made the whole population around the field shudder.

"Ah, perhaps we shall talk of this later on...at a more _private_ time."

He maneuvered Jonathan to the center of the circle once again, then shoved him a few feet away.

"You know how wizards' duels work, I suppose?"

_The moment of truth_, Jonathan thought, his heart sinking. There would be no escape from this. Soon he too would be like that cold, lifeless body on the brown grass. No matter what his teacher said or did to prove such a thing--who here, in this crowd, could know of or assist a freed soul?

Outwardly he remained confident, even cocky.

"Of course I know how wizards' duels work. I know how _all_ your stuff works!"

_Then we bow first_, said Voldemort's voice within his head, and he sighed. He was rather used to the penetration of his mind by now. _Ick, though...he feels like salt rubbed over blood._

"It's rude to invade another's mind among our people."

"Is that so." It was hardly a question. "Excuse my impatience, but who--WHO--are 'your people'?"

_He is angry now. I am most certainly going to die. But does he _really_ think that I am distracted--or frightened--enough to give him such information?_

"My people shall not let me divulge such incriminating information--to use legal terms."

But in his mind, as a last sense of identity before the inevitable, he rattled it all off in a secluded (and heavily guarded) corner, rather pridefully: _We are the Flash Searchers, a small people who are like family to each other. We are special--and more powerful than any wizard ever born if you ask me. Our mission is to protect such temptations from _snakes_ such as you, like the..._

It, that beautiful, terrible object, suddenly came to mind: the Lost Flash.

Thunder seemed to rain across the field. He felt as though he were naming his destiny.

_Like _it.

The Dark Lord abandoned all formalities. His face pinched seriously.

"Well then--do the pathetic slime you persist in calling 'your people' wish to live still?"

Cheekily the boy repeated, "My people shall not--"

"Enough! I understand, _boy_."

"You do realize that, since I am not a wizard, we cannot duel properly?" _Duh?_

The scarlet orbs gleamed. "Oh, I realized that." Then, "_Sectumsempra_!"

Jonathan felt a tremor move toward him and leaped away, sneering once more; from behind him he heard a scream as the spell hit a different mark. His stomach turned; he did not think he could stand much more of this.

"Abale!" he heard Bellatrix Lestrange hiss.

"Quiet, Bella," Voldemort murmured calmly.

Then, to Jonathan, "A nice little spell I..._borrowed_...from dear Severus. Go on--turn around--see what it is like."

"I refuse. Besides, I was taught never to turn your back on an enemy."

Voldemort laughed pleasantly at the coolness in the boy's voice.

"I heard that from an enemy, once..."

_I can't believe I'm going to be dead soon. Isn't this all a little sudden? Couldn't I have been given time to, you know, tie up loose ends?_

He stalled for time. "Why did you kill your own servant?"

"Simple. He disobeyed me and moved to attack you--and with _another _of Severus's spells, no less! Insubordinance I do not tolerate."

"You do not tolerate much."

He rattled off another Cruciatus Curse, robbing the boy of breath.

"Before you die," he snarled, "I will have my answers from you. I will not kill you until I have been enlightened."

Jonathan retorted bravely, "And my lips will stay sealed, for I would never betray my people or mission. I will _die_ defying you; and you will thus remain ignorant by my hand." But he was shaking; he didn't much like his own part in this moment of truth; he was so scared he was reverting to slightly proper language (or what the _wizards_ called Old English. Bah!).

_Funny, they always said at home that I'd die before I got rid of the habit..._

"_Cooperate_!" Voldemort hissed; he flailed his arm in his fury, making his sparking wand an impressive sight. So frightening a sight was he that the Death Eaters' tightly-knit circle expanded, broke in places from the tremors of fear.

"Tell me of what the Lost Flash is."

The young man smiled. "Not only am I forbidden to tell, I would not tell if you chained me to a cliff and _Crucio_ed me day and night."

_**A noble statement, Jonathan.**_

Almost immediately, he rejoiced within the safety of his own mind. _Avöy! My Teacher! You are here!_

But just as quickly, his joy faded.

_I wish you to leave, Avöy. I am to die here, alone._

**_I realize that._** The rough, calm voice sounded amused. **_Jonathan, you were among some of my finest pupils--have I told you that? I am honored to teach you, now and forever._**

_Now...and forever? Avöy...soon all traces of _me_ will be removed forever!_

A short pause. Then--

_**Jonathan.** _His Avöy's voice was scolding. **_You have forgotten what I taught you in your fear: we are special! We do not fade as others do. And we can bestow this ability upon trusted ones. ...How old do you think I am?_**

What a strange question to be asking--or answering--now!

Jonathan pictured his teacher's face, not for the first time that night. _Well...um..._

_I...um...at least a hundred. A hundred and six._

**_Wrong, young one. I died many ages before your time, at eighty-nine. My teacher then gave me the last secret, thinking me worthy...and so I am ageless. --As you can be. Believe me, it really is _**not**_ a myth._**

_Imp-impossible!_

**_Only for_ wizards,** retorted Avöy's scathing voice, sound young as he sometimes (though rarely) did. This was a sensitive subject for he and many others like him; so his voice went soft. **_Unless one of ours passes our gift to them, long life is all they get._** Then it reverted to youthfully scathing. **_Ha, wouldn't Tom Riddle _**love**_ to get his hands on _**our**_ arts! Thankfully none of _**ours**_ would sink so low._**

_But we trusted in my captor, the--_

**_No._** Firmness returned. **_We _**allegedly**_ trusted in him. I gave him little information; later we shall find out if he is trustworthy, despite his...status. I have suspicions..._**

Jonathan did not pursue that. He was sure that even in the perils of this moment, his beloved teacher would still keep his lips sealed secret-wise.

Yes, even in his peril--

_Wait. _He started suddenly, anxiously._ What's going on? I haven't spoken for at least three minutes--why aren't I dead yet?! _(To himself he privately thought, _Or at least eating mud again..._)

**_Calm, calm, _**his Avöy soothed. **_And look and listen. I have stopped time around you, so you may be at peace with your fate and ready--for you were right. We cannot come to your aid. --And much as you would like to, you will not run. I sense it in you._**

He was right on all counts. Jonathan could not even see the enemy breathing, though he knew they must have been...somehow. And he could not run from destiny. Death wanted him, and so Death would get him.

_Leave me for a moment, please, Avöy_.

**_If I leave, it is forever._**

Jonathan bristled. _Then **dampen your voice**._

The other receded without a glimmer of protest.

* * *

He walked quietly, not daring to upset the frozen forms, even though he knew such a thing wasn't possible. For a moment he considered spitting in Voldemort's motionless face, but he decided that would be letting him in on secrets, and so refrained. Instead, he shoved between the circle of Death Eaters and found what he most desired--a pool of clear, untainted water.

He knelt, became one with the ground.

Gray, stormy eyes blinked back at him, disturbed by the slightest ripple in the glass-like surface. He'd cut his hair recently, so the silk chocolate bangs that usually identified him (by their outrageous length) were absent. Otherwise, he was still looking the same as ever. Except that...

He was crying.

_Is it natural to cry when you know...when you know you're...?_

A single tear fell into the pool, distorting his face. The emotional moment of weakness made Jonathan realize he was truly not yet ready to die, to give up his lot in life. _Everything_ meant something to him just now...

But still he did not flee.

He lay there instead and cried, remembering his whole life in a flash of color, sound and blackness. No escape from this meant... meant he'd have to take it bravely. _After all, no one said everyone got to be happy._

It took a very long while for him to recover. Jonathan rubbed his eyes blearily, feeling as if he had been crying for hours instead of minutes; but it had helped. There was little left now--just numbness.

He called out to the only one who could save his soul.

_Avöy. I am ready now._

**_That is good._** The voice returned in full, gentle. **_Are you at peace?_**

_Yes. There is no regret left._ Jonathan made his mind's voice low and pleading. _Now, please... I wish to teach myself and others, as you do... I do not wish to waste away._

**_Then it shall be such._** The voice quieted. **_Repeat after me, and mind that Voldemort is not repeating after _**you.

**_Now. We shall recite..._**

And Jonathan lost himself, momentarily, in the joy of the magic of his people, the words that seemed so new and yet so old, and then so a _part_ of him...

* * *

_**It is over, little one. Open your eyes.**_

_I don't feel any different, Avöy._

**_You will not feel it until he tries to kill you._**

_Will--_ Jonathan stuttered. _Will--he know?_

**_Of course he will not know! Sorry excuse for even a wizard, _**that**_ one is._**

Then Avöy's voice became softer, more pleasant.

**_Jonathan. I am _**extremely**_ proud of you. Your mastery of your feelings and powers, especially during your adolescence so far, has amazed me and all of your other teachers. You will grow more slowly in this 'phase', but will still have the same freedom to live--if that makes you feel any better._**

The youth blushed handsomely. _Thank you, Avöy. G-good-bye._

**_Good-bye, my stubborn boy_.**

* * *

Jonathan felt a shift, as if he were being pushed back into time. And back within the folds of time, Voldemort weaved his own confusion into the boy's mind.

"Who do you think you are?" Mocking was mixed cleverly in. "Some sort of Wonder-Boy-Who-Cannot-Die? I do not know you, Jonathan, but I **_do_** know that you are not Harry Potter--even if you choose to believe and act as such. There is no confusion there."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, but his morbid thoughts rolled inside him as well. _My time has come._

"I know who I am and am not--and I know that, with a simple spell, _your kind_ will _never_ get to the Lost Flash!"

And now Voldemort was charging, starting forward, his scarlet eyes spelling rage, impatience and, now, lack of mercy...

But he was too late, too foolish, too far away and not powerful enough to stop what came next. The double-meant magic was whispered.

"**_Obfirmo_**."

Far away, two entwined seals were thus set in place. The deed was done.

In doing so, the half-grown, arrogant boy sealed his own fate. Voldemort had had enough of games.

Jonathan counted down slowly in his mind.

_Three..._

"I will find what I seek, Jonathan. But you won't be around to see me prevail."

_Two..._

"I beg to differ, vermin. _I'll_ 'be around' to do a whole lot."

_One._

"Last words, boy?"

"You will have a binding trial in two weeks, as is the law for killing one of my people. You will go to Flint Wake Lane, number Four-Six-Five, Waterfall, and be tried. My law gives no exceptions."

The Dark Lord sneered. "You expect me to show up for some sort of _trial_?"

"Flint Wake Lane," the boy repeated firmly, "number Four-Six-Five, Waterfall. No exceptions! Bring your cult if you want. Sorry for the inconvenience, I'm sure--but you did it to yourself. Hope you like the next life when you get there--"

"I have two words for you, boy."

"Bring them on."

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

* * *

The charismatic spell on the surrounding circle was broken at last; all watched as the light in the boy's gray eyes faded as he died. His body fell with a soft _flump_ into a brown patch of grass, face up and rapidly becoming cold. A little redness began to form at his mouth, glowing.

Voldemort turned away. He was more shaken than his circle, if possible. Something about that boy...who _was_ he that he could somehow have what _he_, the Dark _Lord_, could not? Even in death...?

"Take him away and dispose of him!" His barked command restored life to the Lestranges and Narcissa Malfoy. "I do not _ever_ wish to see him again."

Avery moved forward, bowing humbly.

"Master...might it be wise to--to use this trial for answers?"

He was rewarded with a Cruciatus Curse for bothering to think _and_ for mentioning the "wretched _boy_!" who had driven his master thirst-crazy.

Foolish boy...over such an object of power...one only he could truly possess and master...

Narcissa Malfoy, meanwhile, was thinking about her son.

Jonathan, she had realized, as she saw green light take him, was just around Draco's age--but Draco was involved in a dangerous game he didn't know how to play.

_And we are doomed to our coming fates, with Lucius in his state--unless...!_

"_Cissy!_" Bellatrix hissed, leaning in close. "Get moving NOW!"

In a daze, Narcissa moved with her sister--she bent and touched the flushed face of the dead boy--and gasped.

Then she and her sister screamed.

Jonathan's body was glowing green and rising into the air; the redness left his mouth as a sphere of light and shot off to the northwest, whistling shrilly.

An echoing, boyish laugh was heard, and a chill descended upon them as they all stared toward the middle of the circle. Their silence was fear, was confusion, was longing to understand.

Rodolphus Lestrange put it simply. "His body is gone."

An inhuman growl escaped Voldemort's throat; he twisted his marble-white fingers, then whipped out his wand and destroyed a row of tombstones resting in the graveyard in the distance. His calming breaths came slowly, gradually.

"_Good riddance_."

Wormtail went to his Master's side and muttered in his ear for a while; then Voldemort pushed him away and sat down, still breathing in short bursts.

"Leave."

The circle dispersed without a murmur. Voldemort was left with the body of Goyle Senior and disturbing feelings.

"I have not felt so trapped," he mused aloud, "since I first found out the cursed prophecy was so close by..."

_The prophecy!_

Instantly a boy with darker hair and brighter eyes flashed into his mind. A grim smile rested itself on his face.

"The prophecy shall be mine, if I have to dispose of **_all_** my Death Eaters **_and _**every Mudblood in Hogwarts!"

With his old goal back in mind, his pale fingers twisted the yew wand, stroked it, and held it up to the still-rising moon.

"The only thing in my way," Voldemort whispered, "is a half-grown boy and his protectors--who are away from him this night."

In the darkness, a large snake burst from the brush and wound her way around her best friend's legs.

"_Sss..._"

He spoke, almost lovingly. "Oh, Nagini... I have all the time in the world to secure my victory. With just a few minor adjustments...everything will be mine..."

She curled around his waist and fell asleep to his sibilant, soothing songs, knowing that somewhere a boy's sleep would not come so easily. But as a serpent, what did she care?

"_Blood of pure, take your place...right their wrongs..._"

* * *

**Chapter One is now edited!**

I hope you could actually read all of this without flinching now, like I did!

(I am a stickler for spelling. However, computers hate me. How does this mix?)

I will have other chapters reposted soon, with the exception of Chapter Six, possibly Chapter Five, and all future ones. Hopefully computers will cooperate with me by then.

See you soon.


	2. The Depths of Despair

~**Chapter Two is now being edited!**~

(sighs) The Random Rant is gone. But, you know, not that you all needed to hear me whine about how short summaries have to be.

Kitsune-Arii: Holy crap, she used a Transformers reference without realizing. (goes off to laugh)

**(The Full) Summary: **Harry is mourning Sirius and resisting Voldemort's wrath--Dumbledore is trying to sort out new, raw feelings--and even Voldemort is experiencing rocky new changes. And what does a secret organization of Flash Searchers have to do with anything?

Please do reccommend this to your friends! Reviewers really do get love...I promise...!

Thanks to all who reviewed and gave helpful pointers!! Brownies!

* * *

Chapter Two: The Depths of Despair

* * *

"_Dirty blood, surrender your knowledge...step down or die..._

_Pure of blood, know your worth--_"

"NO!"

A boy shot up screaming in bed, clawing at the damp sheets. His deep green eyes were animal-wide in his fear; his raven-black hair, usually untidy, was now matted and pressed to his sweaty forehead. He sat up that way, suspended, for a moment--then a moan overtook him and he buried his head in his pillow, gripping the sides in his agony.

Harry Potter knew he would be lucky to close his eyes again tonight--because Voldemort was back in his head, and he wouldn't be going easily.

"_Do you like my little song, Potter? Good of you to understand Parseltongue, _especially_ considering we are surrounded by fools who can't._"

Harry moaned again, strained. "Get..._out of_...my _head_..."

"_Ah, ah, ah...you have information I greatly desire, you know. And I will not be leaving until I _know_ about what I seek_."

_The prophecy...!_

"_Yes, boy. The prophecy._"

A red glow burned inside him, then faded just as quickly; immediately after he felt Voldemort's alien presence, scratching at the corners, scraping almost desperately, ignoring his feeble cries for mercy. Memories of his friends were scoffed over; thoughts of his allies drove the Dark Lord back for precious moments.

But in the wake of his own weakness in Occlumency, what good were those moments?

More pain wracked through his body. Oh, it hurt. His jaw unhinged soundlessly from the waves of agony coursing through him; to be combined with his adversary was pain beyond imagination, beyond reason. There should have been a law against it; a spell, some doing to prevent it. It made him wish for company as he had not wished in four years--he wished for Ron, for Hermione, for Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin, for Fred and George and Ginny and Professor McGonagall and, hell, even Albus Dumbledore...

_I can't fight him_, Harry thought, whimpering aloud as he struggled to steal back control_. He's too strong; I have nothing to fight him _with_--how long 'till he gets what he wants_?

Despair hacked relentlessly at him, with no purpose but victory over its host. Little did Harry know that it saved him...

"_Want to help me out, Potter_?_ I can make this much easier for you._"

Harry, suspended over the bed now in his pain, grabbed his glasses without really thinking about it; and before he thrust them on, he saw a flicker of scarlet reflected in his eyes.

_I'm done. How can I possibly win against this...creature? First I lost my parents; then Cedric, now Sirius... will Ron and Hermione be next?_

A few tears found their way to the carpet.

A yelp of pain and a scar across Harry's vision seemed to blind the boy temporarily; his own, real scar burst open, and pain was all he knew for an agonizing hour (was it really that long?); his eyes were squeezed shut, and tears ran down his face. A soft sob emerged from his throat at such raw pain.

At last, though, the pain abated, and he lay panting on the bed, alone. Voldemort was gone--for now.

* * *

His eyes opened slowly, and blinked, like he was remembering how to see. He broke out in a sweat just lying there, thinking--as he had been thinking for the past week, as alone as he was now...

_Please. Please let my eyes close tonight. Please._

He was cold from lack of sheets in the middle of the night, but too lazy, too frozen with pain, to pick his up off the floor.

_Please_.

Harry's dream from before came suddenly back to him: the boy (whose name he couldn't place just now) who had openly defied Voldemort because of a--a--what was it? A Lost...something.

_Sirius._

_Did you forget? Sirius is gone._

"No," he said aloud once more, redoubling his grip on the sheets--the color of his hands faded from red to white as he struggled to push the hated memories away.

_Sirius. Sirius was always looking out for you. Without him, who do you have?_

His scar prickled ominously; instinctively he slapped his forehead, and winced as he felt blood. Nice, something _else_ to clean up in the morning.

_I want _sleep, his body cried. _I want to close my eyes and not have to think anymore, about anything or anyone._

It took a long time--of peaceable silence, permeated by an owl's hoot and a whistle of wind--but eventually Harry closed his eyes, breathing slowly in and out.

_Relax. Don't think._

_Breathe in._

_Proceed slowly. Eliminate everything but you and the Night._

_Breathe out._

_There is no Ron. No Hermione. No Hogwarts._

_In._

_No parents, no Professors, no friends, no allies. No relatives for good measure._

_Out._

_Voldemort is immaterial. There are no enemies, no fights, no hate._

_Relax._

_No love. No light. No gray, no people._

_--Now to the important ones._

_Lie still._

_There is no--no--no Sirius. None...no Blacks, no Lupins, no Wormtails no Potters, no--oh God--_

He choked, faltered.

_No. Night. No thoughts. There is no sadness. There is no love._

_Breathing resumes: in._

_All there is is my heartbeat._

_Out._

_Sirius is not. I am not. Harry Potter is a nightmare. A fairytale._

_In..._

_No Harry. No misery. No life._

_Ou--_

Darkness.

* * *

"Naughty, naughty" Harry, as Petunia Dursley called him as a toddler, did not wake up the next morning, shower, and mow the lawn as he had done routinely in previous summers. Instead he slept through lunch, woke to remember his dead godfather, washed the dried blood off his scar, and threw the food his jailers had pushed through the cat-flap straight out the window--Hedwig had been away for days, so why waste food?

(Actually, and not to his knowledge, he did waste it--right onto the head of Mundungus Fletcher, reluctantly reinstated guard of Harry Potter for the next week. Perhaps it's better that Harry **_didn't _**know, for in his current state he would have accepted it as revenge for being left to dementors the previous year.)

After waking, he merely picked up a dusty book (courtesy of Dudley) from his floor and started reading an alternate version of _The Three Little Pigs_. Thus, he didn't immediately see the graceful white shape glide in, land smoothly on the desk, and hear her master laugh for the first time since before June.

Upon noticing Hedwig ten minutes later, he smiled and ruffled her feathers, noticing that she was rather warm from her flight ("Where've you been?"); then he was inclined to go "back to sleep" once he heard the tell-tale _thump-THUMP_s of his uncle and the hard knock at his door.

"BOY! You have been asleep since some ungodly hour of the morning! GET OUT NOW!"

Harry burrowed under the covers, gripping the sides of the bed as he had done in his period of misery last night.

"DO YOU HEAR ME IN THERE?"

_You know, I don't appreciate being treated like I'm deaf._

Heated silence. Harry sensed Uncle Vernon's heavy breathing. In his mind he pictured the man outside, purpler than a beet, thinking of violent punishments that would send CPS running their way.

_But they never find the victims, I've noticed._

BANG.

The door opened forcefully, Hedwig screeched rather indignantly, and Harry felt a hard pinch on the scruff of his neck--but try as Vernon Dursley might, the most he could do was pull his nephew out of bed, and not into the air as he could when the boy was younger.

"And good afternoon to you too, Uncle Vernon," Harry said dryly.

"Don't be smart with me. Have you forgotten about my **_lawn_**?"

"Oh, _no_," the boy drawled, secretly enjoying the fuchsia blots on his uncle's cheeks. "Mercy, I forgot the lawn! But don't you worry, I'm sore someone'll come and help you uphold your Best Suburban Lawn award. Imagine, two years running..."

To be reminded of one of the worst wizard-caused blunders of his life so far was too much for Harry's uncle; his mouth simply gaped open and closed, as speechless as fish or fowl. A blue tinge began to decorate his face. With the purple still present he was beginning to look quite colorful.

Harry took this opportunity to speak with his own type of finality.

"Now _you_ listen. I won't be mowing your precious lawn this summer. In fact, I won't be mowing it next summer or any time after that.

"I'm not going to do my chores, _or _Dudley's, or anybody else's. Cleaning anything but my own possessions is now a thing of the past. And I won't be "making myself scarce" when company of any sort comes over unless I wish it, such as with your sister--instead I'll be treated as a member of the family, as I should have been nearly all my life already."

Silence. Harry saw a muscle twitching in his uncle's jaw, but it didn't faze him the slightest bit.

Not anymore.

"You thought you'd introduce me as a delinquent ten or eleven years ago so I wouldn't have any friends or support; remember that, Uncle? Yeah? Well, you know what? now you'll get to find out what a delinquent Harry would _really_ be like. By the time I leave you all this summer, you'll wish I really _did_ go to St. Brutus's...!"

Vernon dropped Harry very suddenly, back onto the bed. He bent, so that he was looming threateningly over the boy. "Do you truly think you'll get away with that...?!" The challenge was a whisper--soft but strangely authoritative.

"Why, yes, I know I will. And I think Aunt Petunia will agree."

The color was gone completely from the man's face; for he knew he had lost, that his nephew had slipped from his control at last. Grumbling fiercely, he thundered a path to the door.

He almost made it, too.

"One more thing."

Harry was standing straight and tall next to Hedwig (that _blasted owl_!), looking as proud and formidable as his father once had without realizing.

"I don't know when I'll be leaving here. But if I haven't been picked up by the sixteenth, I'll pack up and leave myself, so you'll be rid of me before long regardless. Now, _is that okay with you_?"

_**Slam!**_

_Gone. For now. Good riddance, I say._

His scar twinged; a memory from last night flashed across his mind.

_"His body is gone..."_

_"Good riddance."_

"Uungh..."

Harry sat down hard on his bed. He felt a prickling something in his mind, something familiar but gentler.

_Someone's trying to get into my head._

He panicked instantly. Harry didn't even know how he'd gotten _Voldemort_ out of his head--how would he deal with anyone else? He sensed somehow that this threat wasn't his enemy, but wasn't it a threat regardless?

_Harry_.

Everything seemed to freeze, except the one thought: _He's trying to communicate with me..._

_Of _course_ I am, you dunce. And seriously--what if I had been a girl?_

Harry had no answer to that--until a small, indignant part of him that the intruder _couldn't_ hear reminded him who the real victim was here.

_Who are you, and what are you doing in my head?!_

The other voice came slowly, receding from his mind a little in the process--almost as though he knew how invasive this was. _My name was once Rivers--and I am here because I need your help. You're a wizard, yes?_

_Yes...and you're not?_

_No._

_Not a wizard?_ Harry pondered this privately. His knowledge of the magical world was sketchy at best--how could there be more? And how could this _more_ invade others' minds like wizards could?

The other boy--for Harry decided, with some help, that it was a boy--was laughing at him.

_You wizards. They were right about you--so narrow-minded it hurts to be here almost. But I suppose it can't be helped just now._

Predictably, Harry flared instantly. Excuse_ me? If we wizards are "so narrow-minded", why are you coming to one for help?_

"Rivers's" answer echoed simply. _Because_ you're _Harry Potter._

_And?_

And..._I am going somewhere new to me. I know nothing of it...and with no allies...I am very afraid._

A wave of sympathy washed over the raven-haired youth. He knew what it was like to be afraid of some unknown test or place. Hogwarts had immediately come to mind; the first time he had seen the place, he had been sure that he did not belong within its grandness.

_I'll do whatever you ask._

_Help me when I call, _Rivers's voice begged plaintively. _My teacher said I--that the journey would be somewhat long for me. I don't wish to be alone the whole time._

_I'll do it._

_...Thank you._

"Rivers" was gone.

_Who was that?_

* * *

The atmosphere for the rest of the afternoon in the Dursley home was colder than walking through the ghosts of Hogwarts; so Harry decided that outside the house was the best place to be for a while. No one saw him leave and that was fine with him.

It was rather a relief to get away from the place that had held so much misery within it--inside, memories haunted him without mercy and without fail. When he left, it was like locking Sirius, Cedric, his parents and even a different Harry behind the door.

The only problem was: Harry did not realize that locking his problems away was not equivalent to healing and maturing. In his hurting, fevered mind he imagined that he could make it better by forgetting about his godfather--_after all, there isn't much to forget_--and thus shutting out his compressing feelings.

In a way it was healthy for Harry to get even a little fresh air, and most likely the only reason the boy didn't atrophy inside what Sirius had once called "that _wretched _house" (a lump moved into Harry's throat at the memory, but he somehow managed to swallow it away). He walked swiftly down the street, ignoring the neighbors' stares, and turned down into Magnolia Crescent; his feet were intent on taking him back to where the dementors had attacked he and Dudley last year.

As he got closer, memories from that night plagued his mind, coupled with a sort of exasperation with how non-threatening these places looked during the day. Harry turned onto Magnolia Road, thought he saw a shadow--turned--

Nothing. Not even a whisper of breath.

He sighed, exasperation returning. _This is ridiculous._

Now he was at the park. He could hear a distant group of voices, laughing (guffawing, really) and yelling in rowdy tones. _Dudley's gang._ Unperturbed, he saw on a swing and pushed back and forth, losing himself temporarily in swirls of dizziness.

Dudley was with them, Harry knew. Even after being scared out of his wits that night, he was still bold enough to go 'round with his gang scaring the liver out of little kids. _Huh_. Dudley, though, could no longer count himself alone in being afraid; somehow, the dementors' presence seemed to have lingered here on Magnolia Road and farther away down Wisteria Walk. No one would let their children play outside for very long, nor would they stay out for any period of time themselves. The cold hopelessness brought on by the inhuman beings had lingered, and continued to haunt both the residents...and Harry himself.

He shook such thoughts away. Dudley's gang was closer. He didn't know _where_ they were in relation to him, but their noise grew closer, and it stimulated a new train of thought in him...

_Come closer, why don't you? I've kept quiet for twelve years...now I'm ready to have a go..._

He shook himself again. Coming to this park was always a bad idea--it brought forth impulses that did not normally rise. Lately one of them was a strong desire to fight, to hurt someone like _he_ always seemed to be hurt.

_I guess this is how Dudley feels all the time._

"HA! Won't see him messing with _me_ again, I'll bet!!"

_Speak of the devil..._

"You got him good, Big D. Hey--"

"Look over there--"

"Hey, _look_! It's the squirt, Dud! He's coming back!"

"Man, he looks pissed..."

"He can all he wants--I'll beat him down _again_ if he asks nicely...!"

Harry clenched his fists. _I know exactly where they are. And who they were torturing..._

He was up and off toward Wisteria Walk--where Mark Evans lived.

* * *

It didn't take very long for the ambush to take place.

Harry leaned against the brick wall where he and his cousin had been attacked, and simply waited. Once when he had believe he and Mark were somehow related, he'd secretly tailed him, trying to find out everything from his mannerisms to his origin--or hopefully lack thereof. Mark, however, had a disappointingly tedious life: back-talker, child of dull, spiritless parents who doted on the boy's older sister; thought to either have a rare form of asthma or just serious trouble breathing when asleep.

Oh--and he had been a target of Dudley's ever since he was five and had warned his older sister against getting "involved with the lump". Needless to say he ruined "Big D's" chances.

_Like she would have anyway; she looks smarter than that._

Harry had scoffed at such an idea. He'd interacted with Lilian Evans before, and she was so straightforward and moral-driven that he knew Peeves would single-handedly set the whole of Hogwarts aflame before she "got involved" with his sadly-lacking, no-good cousin.

_Hogwarts._

He pushed the images away, as well as the thoughts.

From what he knew of both Mark and Dudley, the former had probably crossed Dudley's presence at the wrong time, smarted off, and then got his nose bloodied for the tenth time (Harry had counted). After perhaps following the gang for revenge, Mark must have attacked, succeeded, and was now heading for escape in the form of the shortcut to his house. In other words, Harry's spot-of-ambush.

"_Yeooow!_ Get back here, you--"

_I was right._ Harry stood up straight (the longest part of his wait was over now), paused, and then--

He tensed. _Get ready, Potter. Here they come._

Mark Evans came yelping around the corner, his brown eyes wide with fear--and was that just a little spark of cunning as well?

_Yes it is. I'll be--somethinged. There's more to _him_ than meets the eye._

When Mark saw Harry blocking his path, he yelped even louder and froze; Harry put up his hands in a "relax, I-won't-hurt-you" gesture.

"Hey. Mark, right? Go on home and let your mum fix that nose, eh? I'll take care of my cousin."

A long pause. One second of silence. Two. Three.

_Okaaay..._

Brown eyes moved up slowly, met green. Then Mark nodded--and smiled.

And spoke, with spots of blood on his cheeks and nose.

"You know, you're nothing like everyone says."

"Good to know," Harry replied simply, and stood aside. There was a time when a sentence like that would have left him buoyant, but there was nothing in him left that appreciated being liked in this town for once.

Mark scampered around the corner and to Wisteria walk with cocky parting words: "I _can_ take care of myself, in case you're wondering!"

_I wasn't. I never _am_. Stupid seven year-olds._

"Well, well."

Harry whipped around, then smiled. "And well, well yourself, Polkiss."

Piers Polkiss sneered, but there was wariness in the sneer. He was soon joined by Dudley and the rest of the gang; Harry looked over the group, not for the first time, with a soft, but un-Harry-like smile.

"Going somewhere, guys?"

It was Dudley who answered. "Oi! Out of the way, Potter! I have a squirt to take care of, NOW!"

"I sent that 'squirt' home to report of your actions and get his nose cleaned up. It's just us men now."

Did he detect a tensing among the group?

_Nah. I doubt Dudley's told them about me._

He looked them over critically. Malcolm's waxy blond hair wrapped around his tapered chin, putting a spotlight on his sad gray eyes. To contrast Dudley, he was frighteningly thin, with stick arms, legs and an altogether near-anorexic look to him.

On the other hand, Gordon was tubby and sly. There was no person, thing or dish on earth that Gordon did not notice. This kid could steal a hot, finely buttered roll..._from someone else's mouth_. It was, as Lilian Evans had once remarked in Harry's earshot, "totally gross". (Harry privately agreed. However, to Gordon, food was food.)

_A true Dudley contender_.

Dennis was probably the only member of Dudley's gang that had changed morally in the twelve years Harry had known him. Apparently his mother had cracked down on him, for he had brought his grades way up and started secretly hanging out with other crowds. It was only on the weekends that he "reverted" to Little Whinging terrorist--especially by night.

_Seriously, mate, cut the string already._

(Also known to Harry, but to few others: Dennis was going out with Mark's sister Lilian on odd weekends. It was a good thing Dudley _didn't_ know this, or else Dennis would spend as much time with his mother as young Mark did.)

Five against one--_great odds for you, Potter._

Piers spoke. "How many times have we told you to stay out of our way?" His rat-like features twisted and writhed as he spoke, like an animal trying to free itself; Harry was reminded, with a surge of fury and helplessness, of Peter Pettigrew.

But Harry's smile remained plastered on. "Hundreds. And this same smile has come to my face. Have you noticed?"

Malcolm stepped forward, clenching and popping his fists. "Maybe we can squash it out of you."

The wizard boy's smile vanished. It was replaced by a hard sneer more dangerous than any expression ever seen on the boy's face; and truth be told, it scared the other boys more than any but Dennis might admit.

"I'm really tired of hearing "squash it out" and "me" in the same sentence. I'm almost, in fact, inclined to _do_ something about it."

He was itching to reach into his pocket, pull out his treasured holly-and-phoenix-feather wand and curse the whole lot down into little snotty pieces--but the impulse had to be controlled, mastered. At the moment it was so-_o_ tempting--he didn't really **_care_** if he was expelled now--

"D-do something?"

Dudley's baby-blue eyes were wide with apprehension and fear. His hair had darkened some over the past year, but otherwise he was still the same old Dudley--with the same long-held fear of magic. Somehow, it was enormously comforting to Harry to see that everything was pretty much the same in this tiny, narrow-minded other world.

"Yes, _Diddykins_, 'do something'. And I'm not afraid to either."

"Aw, shut up!" This was Gordon, snarling aggressively. "_I'm _not afraid of you and neither is Dudley. What'll _you _do?"

"Speak for yourself," Dennis muttered; then, "'_Diddykins'_?"

Dudley went as red as the stretched sweater he was wearing; only he and his cousin knew the **_real_** reason why. "Y-you c-can't--you're forbidden--you'd be k-kicked out!"

"What if I don't care?"

"Okay, **_that _**is enough!" Piers's head was swimming. Even though he had known Dudley for years longer than his other mates, his odd behavior around Harry had never _quite_ been explained to him (with good reason). "Why are you so afraid of him, Dud?"

"I'm _not_ afraid of him!"

"Yes, he is," Harry corrected swiftly. "You see, yours truly was arrested at a very young age for assaulting a kid about Mark's age. No weird crap or anything like that, just a needed outlet. So _dear_ Uncle Vernon sent me off to St. Brutus's--you've heard of them? Of course you have.

"I--er, _we _have a policy at St. Brutus's against--erm, certain violent things we have learned to do, so...so suffice it to say that _I_ could take you _all_ on--and win. But since I don't care if I'm expelled anyway, bring it on."

Malcolm and Gordon came forward, menacingly. For a moment Harry was reminded of Crabbe and Goyle in both their movements and intelligence--he couldn't decide which pair was stupider. But right now, that mattered not.

Harry, in all his pain and agony and suffering and rage, would have thrown the first punch (and landed dead on, too) if two things had not happened too quickly for him to put an outlet to his deep grief.

A blur that was Dennis flashed past Harry so fast that it almost made him cross his eyes, calling out, "Now! We can't stay any longer or..."

And a girl with light blonde hair and dark brown eyes appeared suddenly at Harry's side, whispering. "Potter, right? Dennis called for me."

_Lilian Evans. What d'you know._

"Well, _this_ is surprising."

She smiled vaguely, giving him an odd look. "How so?"

"Let's not pretend we're best mates or anything... I know you're Mark Evans's sister Lilian and that you and Dennis are--ahem--an item. But that's all I know."

Was Lilian blushing, or was that his imagination?

"I...thought no one knew. Want me to--er--straighten your glasses?"

He straightened them himself and answered her question, not distracted in the least. "I know _everything_."

There was an awkward pause. Harry decided that he was glad, after all, that Hermione did not act near as 'girly' as Lilian was, and that she at least had an explanation for all the weird things girls did and said. And at least Ron didn't beat up on people and then turn saintly like Dennis...

"So, um...Dennis is waiting for us...unless you want to stay and fight these creeps. Which I wouldn't recommend. Four on three, and all..."

Harry thought a moment. Since the arrival of Mark's sister (about three seconds ago) Dudley's gang had started to look _more_ frightened, not less--and though he dearly desired to one day pound the gang into the ground, something pulled at him, telling him to keep his temper under control, as Sirius had once warned him, and follow Lilian back to the peacefulness of the evening.

"Erm...sure. Whatever."

He turned his back on an enemy for once--ignoring the gawping of his cousin he quipped, "Another dark alley, then?" and went to meet a boy he hardly knew.

* * *

"Some plan, Dennis. In my world you'd be called a coward."

"Hey!" Lilian protested.

Dennis, however, was quiet against Harry's accusations. All he said, as if he had read the Boy-Who-Lived's mind, was: "I cut the string."

"And that's all anyone can ask of him!" his girlfriend added, if quietly. "I mean...oh, Harry, you can see Dennis is different. He's not some half-wit who likes beating up on people's little brothers or smoking or anything like that--not anymore, anyway," and Dennis blushed but allowed that observation as well. "He isn't _like_ the others!"

"I've said that before..."

And Harry had, in a manner of speaking. Hadn't he defended both Sirius _and_ Wormtail in this way three years ago?

_Get your mind_ off_ them!_

Soon they were ambling down Privet Drive, where two-thirds of the current trio lived (Harry and Dennis). Looking from Lilian on his left to Dennis on his right, Harry found himself reminded of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger again, and this time very fiercely. And not only them--Dennis had Hermione's hair but Ginny's former shyness; Lilian had part of his mother's name and Luna Lovegood's blonde hair.

He shook his head firmly. Once. Twice. It was useless to dwell on things like this. Dennis **_certainly_** wasn't Ron, and Lilian certainly wasn't Hermione, and that was that. Since he wouldn't be _seeing_ either of them anymore, however, Dennis and Lilian might be the closest thing he got to from now on...

"Oh, _Dennis_," Lilian was gushing as Harry tuned back in, her chocolate eyes shining. "You were _amazing_ back there!"

_He didn't _do_ anything,_ Harry thought, suddenly furious. _Neither did _we_! Just turned tail and left like cowards..._

As if he had (once again) read the other boy's mind, Dennis explained. "That was my plan. See, I didn't know how well you could fight, and I didn't want Lilian to be in danger--so I had to come up with some way to keep us all away and break from Dudley's gang without seeming to--"

_What?!_

"--lucky I run pretty fast, so getting Lilian to hide in the shadows until I was ready to run was easy--"

Harry stopped dead in the middle of the street. His emotions had boiled over--_way_ over.

"I--I--you--can't _believe_ you! Dennis, you _are_ a coward."

"_Harry!_"

"Lily," Dennis chided, not fazed. "Let him speak."

Harry flinched at Lilian's nickname; but his emerald eyes were blazing, and he would not back down. "You want to _really_ get rid of Dudley and Piers and the rest? Want to _truly_ move on and not be seen as something filthy on a rug and **_actually_** get to hang out with your girlfriend here?"

Lilian blushed, but Dennis nodded mutely.

Harry drove on, a little angrier at Dennis's silence. "Then tell him to his _face_! The only reason Dudley didn't knock us both out is because we had better odds, he couldn't understand a traitor when he saw one, and he fancies Lilian."

Lilian's blush vanished. Indignantly, she straightened her blonde hair and looked away, muttering, "I know. Ick. Mark told me."

_...And I said 'straightforward' and 'moral-driven' earlier? Never mind. Who was I looking at anyway?_

"What part of 'I know everything' didn't you hear?"

No response. Harry's anger escalated to the point where he nearly saw red--and he couldn't even really understand why he was so angry. He breathed roughly, remembering his exercises: _In. Out. In. Out._

He settled for saying, "Dudley won't be so easily fooled the next time you go crawling back to them wanting to be 'one of the gang'! Remember that."

Dennis had gone still quieter at this, his dark brow furrowed as if what he wanted to say escaped him. His words came out slowly.

"Yeah, but...it's obvious that I'm not near as brave as you."

Lilian nodded at this; Harry raised one thin eyebrow and she hastily reached for Dennis's hand.

_Great, everyone _still _thinks I'm a freak. Why go to the trouble of "saving me", then?_

"Dennis! Dennis, dear!"

The trio turned; it was Dennis's mother, waving rather relievedly in his direction. Her hair, Harry could tell, was a deeper, darker brown than her son's.

"I'd better go now," Harry and Lilian muttered at the same time.

Dennis shook his head, pulling them both in the direction of his house. "No--no, c'mon. Mum's all right--she's brilliant, actually."

And indeed she seemed to be--for when the other two reluctantly approached, she did not at all seem afraid of Harry as many other neighborhood mothers certainly were.

"Dennis, _Dennis_," she continued, breathing hard; she leaned against her own doorframe. "Where _were_ you? Your father--"

"I ran into him hours ago," her son interrupted, airily. "He's out--erm, getting some new lightbulbs. Or something."

_Lame, Dennis_.

Dennis's mom turned her attention to the still-seething Harry and Lilian.

"Harry Potter, yes? I am Mrs. Flippens; and of course I already knew you, Ms. Evans."

Lilian smiled shyly, but it was now extremely obvious to any casual observer that the two had met before and Lilian was just playing stupid games.

Harry lowered his eyes; he was only used to Mrs. Weasley, and even in front of her he sometimes felt shy. "Um..."

"How would you like to join Dennis and myself for lunch?"

_Okay, this lady's mental. What's the word?_

_Ah, yes. --**No**!_

"I don't know...?"

"Oh, come on! Harry, I'm sure Dennis and I would enjoy your company tomorrow as well as today... don't let us down!"

_No, Potter--you have better things to do!_

"I...all right. When?"

"Ah...how about twelve-fifteen? Lunch will be waiting for you."

"Sure."

He left the lovebirds hastily. Dennis and Lilian were now making eyes at each other and holding hands, while Dennis's mom beamed knowingly over them.

_Like Mrs. Weasley and Ron and Hermione._

Again he let such thoughts expire.

_Except _these _two're positively embarrassing_.

* * *

This night was even worse than the last.

True, Voldemort did not choose to invade his mind. Also true: with all the nightmares about Sirius and Cedric, along with some new ones of Remus Lupin hating him for existing, Harry might rather have taken Voldemort.

He shot awake again, retching over the side, at two in the morning, after seeming Professor Lupin push him through the Veil...

"Oh my God," Harry moaned over and over, staring at his shaking, sweating hands. "Oh my God."

His relaxing exercises went more quickly tonight, but had less effect. He could not erase Sirius, but erasing himself was soothing, needed, almost a habit now. It had only been two nights or so since his 'erasures' had started, and already he found it a required practice for sleep... At the moment he focused particularly on Hogwarts.

_No Great Hall. No moving staircases._

Hedwig hooted, twitched restlessly in her sleep.

_No dormitories, or Gryffindor common room._

He shifted in his own "sleep", moaning. Professor Lupin's look of hatred was still fixed in his mind. He could not rid himself of it except by sleep, and sleep would not come.

_No dungeons or offices or...or Room of Requirement..._

He tried to clutch the happy memories, keep them close, but they fluttered away like feathers, leaving more despair. Pain. Hurt.

_Not a library, nor a forest, or a Quidditch pitch or hospital wing._

Memories of chasing the Snitch fluttered by as fast as the golden sphere itself often did... how he missed the memory of those quick, breathtaking matches...

_No four-poster bed, gorgeous as it is... though right now I'd take _it_ over the lump I have now..._

His breathing slowed, reduced in intensity. Soon he had loosened his grip on his pillow, and his haunted green eyes decided to close at last.

But he was still not asleep.

Once again his body cried out for sleep, but his mind would not stop whirling...

He'd made so many decisions today, out there on his own, thinking as was usual for this summer. So many painful decisions... but he knew it would be best if he followed through with his new plan. There could be no more pain, no more suffering...

He would miss Ron and Hermione--sending them letters, laughing with them, just talking to and _thinking_ of them. Lately, after Sirius's death, he had distanced himself from the world he knew, writing only the letters the Order of the Phoenix required him to write in order to keep them where they belonged and himself...well, here--and that disconnection included his closest friends. He couldn't even reveal his newest thoughts to them--it was for their own good. They'd understand someday.

He knew he wouldn't miss everyone else after a little while had passed--_and besides,_ he mused, _I'll miss them more than they'll miss me in the long run_. It would be best to just stay with the Dursleys until he was eighteen (of legal age in both the Muggle and wizarding world), then blend in with the Muggles...until Voldemort went too far. _Then_ he would act. Only then.

His sarcastic voice asked, _And **how** far is 'too far'? Hmmm? When he kills one of the friends you're alienating right now?_

_Two more years,_ Harry assured himself, ignoring the painful thought. _Two more._

_Until then--I am never returning to Hogwarts. Never._

He slipped into darkness. Later that night, only a powerless snowy owl heard his true anguish.

* * *

~**Chapter Two is now safe to read!**~

I still have a poll! Please go vote on it!

Kitsune-Arii: Chapter Three is called _A Different Kind of Justice_. Pay attention to it--it has some of the most important elements of the plot.

That is all.


	3. A Different Kind of Justice

~**Chapter Three is being somewhat edited!**~

...And that's only because it's not as bad as I thought it might be.

On we go.

I'm back! I hope you missed me and are waiting for this chapter! It's one of my favorites, as it's one of only two that exist in which I get to mess with Voldemort's head.

**Author's Note:** The title of this chapter comes mainly from the first part; the rest has no relation. For those of you who were waiting for Voldy's payback…here it is.

Kitsune-Arii: The chapters are starting to look better. (sighs with relief) I have had an _awful_ school year. I'm never staying with you that long ever again.

Thanks and hugs to **Alexannah**, **Valinor the White Phoenix**, **Emma-girl**, my buddy **greg the hamster**, **Schuikichiro**, **JESS**, and--ah--that random dissatisfied anonymous person--for reviewing Lost Flash so far!! I ran out of brownies, so be satisfied with this!

* * *

Chapter 3: A Different Kind of Justice

* * *

While most of the Wizarding World drifted into an uneasy sleep, the night creatures were stirring, rustling. One of the most sinister creatures, who might rather not have been out this night, nevertheless prowled the fields of a place he knew nothing of.

"My Lord...?"

"Silence," Lord Voldemort snarled, dark robes billowing behind him. Those _irritating_ gray eyes were once again haunting his mind. _Stupid_ boy--could he _not_ be accurate even in death?

Grimacing, he unfolded the sticky, roughened-up note that owl post (of all things!) had slipped into his hands. He had not been able to let it go since reading its cryptic message:

_Lord V.,_

_The Board of Our Flash Searchers hath moved thy appointment up to July 6--as previously warned, you must attend our trial at Flint Wake Lane, number Four-Six-Five, Waterfall. Step into and through the cave behind the real waterfall and wait._

_Do NOT fail to show up. We can and will hunt you down and destroy you. There would be little hesitation._

_Signed,_

There followed a list of unreadable names, followed by a symbol that made Voldemort's blood tingle.

_Destroy ME?! They are delusional. I **cannot** be destroyed!_

The whole _idea_ of a society of people who did _not _fear him--it did not sit well with him. The Wizarding world feared him, the Muggles soon would--the thought of more Jon--of more _people_ like _that boy_ unnerved him.

No, Voldemort was not afraid of a dead adolescent, or the live one miles away. But he would not, could not, say the dead one's name.

It was Severus Snape who dared fall into step beside his Master and speak--in a soft, concentrated monotone.

"My Lord, I and the others of your faithful...ah, _servants_, are curious as to where we might be."

Voldemort swiveled, so that his pitiless scarlet eyes glared into the infinite darkness of Snape's. (Neither would have admitted it for all the Galleons in the world, but both were terrified of what they saw.) Snape flinched but did not slink away.

_Bravery_, the Dark Lord thought. _I'll give him that._

"Severus," he replied equally softly, as trustingly as was possible for him: "I am not sure."

"Not--?"

"_Quiet_!" Then the hiss faded. "I have only this _revolting_ sheet of paper and the words of a dead boy-creature. Empty threats! Yet still I am drawn to this place..."

If Severus had an ounce more of patience and feeling, he might have had pity on his Master--for ever since that day, not so many hours ago, there had been a cloud of anxiety and prickliness around the Dark Lord that none could cure. It made him irritable and harsh, capable of killing any unsuspecting victim at any time--Narcissa had almost died because of her impudence the evening Jonathan was struck down. The group moved in fearful silence after that.

Not that that was much of a variant.

Severus had little pity for this group of fools anyway.

After a few moments, one lone Death Eater felt a wet droplet fall onto his stiff, thin nose. He hissed furiously, and Voldemort called a halt.

"Wait."

There was a pause. Snape removed his hood; his dark, greasy hair tumbled around his shoulders, and was the first to feel any more moisture.

_Drip, drip_.

A few hoods away, Bellatrix Lestrange shivered and groaned. One look from Voldemort, however, silenced her.

_Plop_.

It wasn't long before Voldemort could not stand one more second of this fool's errand. He knew, deep down, that he was being toyed with; that any thunderstorms happening _now_, while he was out searching, were the fault of _them_. He had not known of such power--power that could surpass even his own, and Dumbledore's, _and_ Potter's...

He strode forward, directed his wand at the sky, and screamed in absolute hatred.

The Death Eaters flinched. (Snape's and Bellatrix's faces curled in pain; then in disgust when they saw each other. There was no love lost between them in normal scenarios, but with both of them competing for Voldemort's favor, it was almost written that they would hate each other. _Especially _now that Lucius Malfoy was out of the running.)

Voldemort's scream seemed to let _those people_ know that he had had enough of their games.

It was obvious, though, that what Lord Voldemort felt didn't matter in the slightest.

The rain that began to pour down in earnest didn't care all that much, anyway.

_Fruuuuuusssssh_.

Voldemort's growl would have frightened the bravest of Aurors; hiding the note in the folds of his cloak, his mind flashed back to the beautiful insignia that had been at its bottom. The golden glow it exuded--how it was embedded into the letter--how it made the back of Voldemort's neck tingle in anticipation and longing...!

_Yesss_, he thought, relaxing inwardly. _Yes. My goal, my ultimate target...the Lost Flash_.

The rain continued, causing the few Death Eaters who had removed their hoods to quickly put them back on. One sneezed, in a boyish-sounding voice.

"Quiet, Nott," the Dark Lord sneered. He had to concentrate. He could have left his "cohorts" behind and traversed here alone... but Voldemort did not know what laid ahead for him, and if it had to be him or his blindly-faithful Death Eaters...

A hiss of warning jolted Voldemort from his thoughts; his blood-red eyes gleamed welcomingly as Nagini, of all things, slithered toward him, up his leg, around to his shoulder. A thin smile materialized on his face.

"_Welcome, my friend_," he began, in Parseltongue perfected with practice. "_What lies ahead?_"

Nagini stuck her tongue out, tasting through the rain. "_Ssss..._" She hissed, startling the Death Eaters who hadn't noticed her (obvious) presence. "_The waterfall you ssseek liesss jusst ahead_."

"_Thank you, Nagini. Your reward will come soon enough...this Lord Voldemort promises_."

_FRUUUUUUUSSSSSSH_. The rain increased in intensity.

As it did, Voldemort gazed ahead and saw the waterfall.

It was looming and majestic, much like everything else associated with these people seemed to be--but at the moment, all Voldemort saw was more wetness. Not exactly welcoming...

He rushed to it without a word. By unspoken command, a sea of black, writhing shapes followed. _Spatter-SPAT_ went their boots as they splashed through puddles and small ponds, and a soft _ruushh_ing sound identified their cloaks to any close listener.

Within seconds, they had reached the sanctuary of the cave.

Snape did a complicated _swish_ing motion in the air; water trailed off his cloak, robes and from his currently-damp hair and landed in a full circle around him. The rest of the Death Eaters, having no knowledge of this spell, were left to shiver.

_Impressive_, Voldemort found himself thinking. _I'll have to torture the details of _that_ particular drying spell out of him later._

_When I care._

And according to the great, wise, infallible _Dumbledore_, he was quite incapable of 'caring'; so he stayed drenched, lit his wand with a quiet hiss (_"Lumos..."_) and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And wa--

"Crabbe!" Voldemort heard himself snarl to a whimpering, trembling bundle in one corner of the cave; Crabbe hadn't yet gotten over his closest friend's death.

"We'll wait no longer! Send up the Dark Mark."

Crabbe had a moment of a personal battle between his unwavering fear and loyalty to the Dark Lord and his right to stay still and mourn. (And, very likely, die.)

The loyalty/fear won. He raised his trembling arm, wand with it.

"_Morsmor_--!"

_Rrrruuuummmbllle_.

Crabbe fell unceremoniously over, onto his back. Several others were shaken as well; but Bellatrix, Severus, and Voldemort himself remained upright.

"What," he growled dangerously, "is going _on_ here?!"

Bellatrix ran to the closest cave wall and felt it. Her dark brown eyes widened considerably, flashing with apprehension.

"My Lord! The cave is--"

"I know!" Voldemort snarled. He gripped his wand still tighter as a rumble, this time of thunder, shook their designated 'meeting-spot'. But just as he was rearing back to send the unseen fools a powerful wave of magic, black lightning flashed brilliantly...

...and all was silent.

* * *

When the Dark Lord woke, one wrist had a strange trinket on it; that thing gripped his arm so firmly it was a wonder blood still flowed to his fingers.

His other hand had a firm hold on--of all people--Narcissa Malfoy; he must have pulled her to him for some reason. Maybe he'd saved her because he'd sensed he would need her further at some point. Whatever the reason, she was alive.

By his mercy.

A lesser dark lord might have said "You _so _owe me" and all other meaningless, Muggle-like things. Not him.

_At least, not out loud._

He got to his feet, flexing the trinket-trapped hand. Upon closer inspection, his scarlet eyes told him that it was in fact a bracelet of incalculable weight; that it was silver and encrusted with strange, onyx-colored gems; it had a tiny-yet-still-visible keyhole on it, and...

"_Alohom_--AARRRGHH!"

...and magic only bounced cleanly off, made the damn thing tighten its hold, _and_ burned the wearer's wrist in the process. All while glowing an attractive red.

_Nice_.

Even nicer--Narcissa, whose arm he was still holding fiercely, was starting to stir. He heard her groan and felt her arm twitch. Apparently arm-movement was a side effect of black lightning-induced sleep. _Stupid, reclusive, almost non-existent_--

"Unhhh... my Lord?"

He let go of her instantly, as though her dizzy, just-waking loyalty had caused him some inconceivable pain; fortunately for _her_, she was conscious enough to catch herself mid-fall, dust her dark Death Eater robes off, and--what was that stupid Muggle expression?--stand at attention.

_Good. Not that I care at the moment._

He turned his attention back to the trinket on his wrist; for he had not given up ridding himself of it yet. Not quite. Its very presence irked him, but what irked him worse was his inability to use magic with it on. With it he felt eleven years old again, still gaping at the wonders of watching someone wave a wand yet unable to connect that power within himself...

He struggled, tried to concentrate, but for every burst of magic that flowed through his veins there was a red glow and a burn that compressed both his powers...and his will.

_No! My will cannot be _broken_, let alone compressed!!_

"Master...?"

Voldemort looked up sharply; Narcissa was motioning to the bars of their...

CAGE?!

_Yes, a cage. My luck worsens._

The bars were long, tall and thick (a rat couldn't have squeezed between them); and a brilliant silver that nearly blinded the two conscious occupants. When Voldemort flicked them with his fingernail, a echoing rrriiiing sounded through the prison that housed them--it made Narcissa shiver.

"Hmmm."

He sat in front of the bars, crossed his legs. Though the very thought of it repulsed him, he would have to close his eyes, concentrate for more than a few seconds, think like Dumbledore...

Mentally and magically, he assessed the prison's strengths, its weaknesses. He tapped into the band of magic contained in his compressive wristband, and the energy waves waiting to zap him into oblivion should he somehow step outside his dark, quiet prison. And it was then that he felt, rather than heard, the stirring of another kindred spirit not so close to him.

"Bella..." Narcissa whispered; there was a shuffling sound as the newest waker was pulled to her feet. "Ssshhh. The Dark Lord is concentrating..."

_Indeed I am. _He pushed mentally at those waves, wondering if he could perhaps break through them for precious moments and Apparate out without a backward thought; two simple _crack_s and he'd be free.

To his chagrin and frustration, the waves pushed back.

It had no mental effect (so trained was his mind), but his physical self shuddered and swayed; it was Bellatrix who dared rush up and touch him, steady him. He decided not to torture her.

"My Lord, what has happened? Where are we?" She looked around, swinging her dark hair, and grit her teeth; a pretty image. "Where are the others?! Those fools--abandoning the Dark Lord--_where are they_? Crabbe and Abale and Snape and... Rodolphus..."

Then she gasped and, reflexively, pointed forward.

"My Lord! Look--"

Voldemort's scarlet eyes snapped open, just in time for an up-close view of five people who stood on the other side of the bars, staring at him.

He got to his feet; slowly, dangerously. His eyes never left any of theirs; incidentally, most all were blue.

_Dark_ blue.

Narcissa stepped forward, so that she was standing almost even with him; her own ice-blue eyes glared out, trying to mask their own flashes of uncertainty.

"Lord Voldemort," one woman said softly. She put on a golden glove and reached through the bars--accompanied by a _fzzz_ing noise and a black cloak. _His_.

She dropped it on the floor as if it were some filth--he felt his blood pressure rise, with no snake curling about his neck to calm him. Nagini was no longer present for some reason...

He voiced this absence. "Where is Nagini?"

"We do not allow _vile_ snakes into our midst," a man snorted. "She is where you left her, we suppose..."

_Emphasis on 'left'._ "That is foolish. As are all of you. Where are the rest of my loyal Death Eaters?"

"They are in the cages we set them in," still another man said smoothly.

_It seems they answer questions readily...good for all of you. There are more in store_.

"What is the meaning of this?"

A second woman stepped up to the bars. She was a vision--her hair was startling red, her eyes pale bluish-gray; she wore a long, flowing golden dress that had purple runes--were those _really_ runes?--embedded in it. In the middle of those runes was the Flash, embedded once again in plain sight.

Voldemort's blood tingled. Again.

"Voldemort," she began, "answer me honestly. Would you have remained so, ah--peaceful--if you had just walked into our domain? Knowing you as we do, we took necessary precautions."

_That is a good point._

"Where _am_ I?"

The red-haired one smiled slyly. She knew that he knew already.

"Flint Wake Lane, number Four-Six-Five--behind the Waterfall."

The revelation brought the imprisoned women gasps of surprise and a sharp reminder of the night of a boy's death, just hours before--and the confirmation brought Voldemort yet another wave of rage.

_A stupid trial! Yet here I am, mongrel to bait!_

Bellatrix moved forward, picked up the cloak lying on the floor, and dusted it off; Voldemort snatched it and pulled it on before she could finish.

The woman outside sneered as she continued. "You are in an energy-sapping area we designed just for wizards. _Especially _for you. --Tell me, Voldemort, did you know I can sense your filthiness from my bedroom miles away?"

It was an insult beyond apology or ignorance. He, _filthy_?

"Why, you--! You are lucky this _thing_ prevents me from summoning your deaths!"

He thrust the trinket-trapped wrist in their snide little faces, vehemently.

"Ren," the second man said to the redhead--but "Ren" shook her head.

"No, Kennil."

Kennil turned to Voldemort anyway, eyes shining beneath his long, braided bright hair. "No one can 'summon Death'. Another of your misconceptions."

The Dark Lord growled. "Impudent--"

"Voldemort." Ren spoke softly, with a hidden intensity. "We--Kennil and I-- shall be escorting the three of you to trial once the elders with us dispel the waves of energy you undoubtebly felt. Otherwise they would obliterate you the second they felt your skin.

"Now, let me inform you of a few things:

"This is not your wizarding world. This is not a place where most of the people in it are irrationally afraid of you. Our people do not like very many wizards--they are selfish, cruel, domineering, demanding, and unlike us those faults bother them not. We communicate with still fewer. And we _certainly_ do not agree with the antics of _vermin_ like you...! ...But that is beside the point."

A low mutter started up among the older man and woman; immediately the bands Voldemort could still feel weakened, drew in on themselves. Seeing the prisoners' confused expressions, Kennil elaborated: "They are dropping your personal wards as well as the cage's. Reluctantly."

_What a crowd _this_ is, _Voldemort thought dryly.

Ren continued speaking as she touched her finger to the bars; the Flash on her dress _fzzz_ed, the bars vanished, and the Dark trio was free. "The point is that...your trial awaits you. May the Board have mercy."

* * *

The elders had dispersed; Voldemort, Narcissa and Bellatrix had been free for about ten minutes (but for the invisible binds that kept them from escaping); now they followed the arrogant Kennil and frighteningly quiet Ren down long, winding staircases, across bridges and indoor ponds (for Voldemort had soon realized that they were not inside a large prison, but a prison-like mansion with neverending floors), and through dark passages lit only by multi-colored torches.

Behind him, Voldemort heard Bellatrix murmur, "Azkaban could use a mentor."

"As you can see," Kennil bragged loudly, making it obvious he'd heard her comment, "this place is a bit of an oxymoron. Comfortable and yet _not_ comfortable, if you see what I mean. A lot more sturdy and unforgiving than your precious _Azkaban_."

Silence for a moment, as they all stared again at the torches. Their tour guide, seeming restless except when he was asked questions, unbraided his hair and let it fall loose at his neck, obviously deep in thought. The trio could see then why he kept it braided. Hair like that could be a nuisance.

"You despise wizards," Bellatrix next noted dryly, "yet these places show many signs of magic that are familiar to me."

Kennil's sly look melted into a look of tender reflection. Pushing his dark blonde hair fruitlessly away, he explained almost gently. "We are different in many ways, but we share the same way of using Latin in our spells--as your "Master" no doubt can agree with, if he remembers the Barring Spell our Senser used to keep from him the Lost Flash."

Ren flinched. It was barely visible, as was the glare she threw at him. It was as if she were saying, _We shall _not_ discuss the Flash_.

Voldemort stiffened. In his mind he heard the boy's last laughter, strong and mocking.

"Though _your_ kind might call it a Locking Spell instead."

"Same difference," Narcissa pointed out coolly.

"We prefer _bar_. A lock can be unlocked; a bar cannot."

Voldemort kept his snide comeback to himself.

Instead, his ruby eyes moved to the woman.

Ren.

He took her in curiously, cocking his head unconsciously to drink the whole of her in. Past her odd getup and red hair (which reminded him of the Weasleys, and two in particular) she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She reminded him of Lily Evans with different eyes and a higher temper; thus he felt some strange tie to the cool, silent woman. If she was one.

The power of his gaze drew her blue-gray eyes; she snarled noiselessly and quickened her pace. They ascended steps while Voldemort made a quick decision:

_Loyal followers or new-knowledged weapon keepers?_

On the top step, he fell into stride with Ren.

"...Ren, is it?" (It was more of a bark than a question.)

"...Voldemort."

"What is **_your_** place here? Here, in this place of mysterious fools?"

Ren grimaced; her eyes flashed. "_I_ am an Aspiring Apprentice, vermin. And I belong here."

"_I am not verm_--wait, _no_!"

His voice lowered to a hiss; he stopped dead; his pupils dilated. No, it could not be. Here the dead boy was again, staring him in the face. He had _two_ boys--a boy whose memory wouldn't stay dead and a boy whose emotions over every little thought nauseated him. And now _this_...!

Ren had stopped, too. Her eyes now glittered coldly; she knew that he knew the secret she hadn't really hid from him, had waited patiently for him to discern.

Narcissa's voice called back to them ("Master...?"), but they were entranced, locked within each other's gazes for Voldemort's moment of realization.

The redhead goddess smiled thinly. "I see you are thinking. A shock."

Voldemort took out his wand, forgetting that it was useless with the trinket still fastened on, and pointed it at her, backing away as if she carried disease.

"You...! You're--you are _him_, made over!"

Ren corrected him. "_He_ is _me _made over, rather. Well, myself and his sweet father Milius." Her face went sweet in memory. "Ah, Milius..."

"You," Voldemort managed, hoarsely, "are--"

"Yes. I am Jonathan's grieving mother."

* * *

The first thought that came to Voldemort's mind was, _Grieving? The woman isn't even wearing black!_

Ren seemed to anticipate this thought train, however, and so quickly applied the brakes.

"Among our people, because our clothing is so...important for day-to-day existence, we have adapted a different culture..."

And she pulled down the lace at the base of her neck. Curiosity overpowering him, Voldemort peered in closely; **_Jonathan _**was written in flowy black script, followed by a strange insignia: a pen on fire.

"His favorite symbol," Ren recalled fondly. "When we lose someone close, our way of grieving long-term (black is only allowed for a week) are these...I think Muggles call them tattoos? Two for each person, _on_ each person."

They started walking again (rather, she did and he followed) as Voldemort asked coldly, "Two? I saw one."

"That is the one I thought would hurt you the most," was Ren's equally cold response. She seemed to have remembered exactly who the Dark Lord was--and why he was in her presence in the first place.

Kennil resumed his walking, along with Bellatrix and Narcissa, as soon as Ren and a shaking Voldemort had caught up. The group proceeded on in silence: Kennil and Ren in front, conversing wordlessly; Voldemort in the middle, feeling distinctly annoyed at being snubbed by the mother of his most recent victim (with nothing to _do_ about it, anyway); and Narcissa and Bellatrix at the rear, loyally following their Master--one lost in desperate, worried thought and one gleefully imagining the joy of torturing a whole new village, though that was not to be.

They approached a pair of brass doors, which Kennil threw open, and then--

Light.

Voldemort winced, feeling it burn his sensitive retinas; he looked to Ren, but she was smirking into the glow, her dress shimmering, her red locks shining.

Kennil murmured to her. "Where from here? I've forgotten--"

"Into the blue-green building. --Relax, Ken. I will assist you. Excellent idea, by the way, getting your sister to create one of her _special_ bracelets for our little ward."

_Little?!_

"_Little?_" Voldemort snarled, fingering his now-pocketed wand.

Kennil flushed. They proceeded into the glowing building, back into a tiny degree of darkness. Down and around a flight of stairs; then Ren pressed her palm into a handprint in the double doors; they sparked, opened, and Voldemort walked into the grandest large spherical room he'd never thought could have existed.

"My Lord! _Master_!"

Fifteen black-cloaked figures cried out, bowing low to him. Many people sitting down rolled their eyes as the group pressed toward their leader.

"Be still," Voldemort ordered, looking them over--yes, there they all were. Avery, Abale, Crabbe, Nott, Zabini, Rodolphus Lestrange, Rookwood (who had escaped Azkaban once more), Wormtail--even Severus--and of course Narcissa and Bellatrix behind him. They, and the other scattered few behind them, made up the Death Eaters not currently vacationing with the dementors, or sent off to other places he couldn't currently fathom.

"As though we might have _kept_ any of them," Ren said icily. He realizing, frowning, that she'd read either his thoughts or his drawn expression.

_Probably the latter. They're so _touchy_ when it comes to simple Legilimency..._

Kennil, in another corner of the large room, pointed to Snape, speaking to one of the elders who was now in front of him.

"_That_ one had to be put in a room of his own. And do you know what he did...? _Meditated_!"

"That is unusual."

"_He_ is unusual. I was not even _there_ and I heard that from Avöy--"

"Which one, youngling?"

"Jonathan's."

"Ah..."

If Voldemort had had substantial eyebrows, they would have risen considerably.

Severus Snape himself hastened to his side, bowing before exploding into mindless chatter. "My Lord, I have learned from that one--" he pointed to the elder Kennil spoke to-- "that we have been here six hours in protective cages, and all of the Judicial Counsel was waiting--expecting _you_ to wake."

_Me?_

_...It get stranger._

Ren had appeared suddenly on his other side, and was now hissing in his ear.

"Do _not_ sit with your servants! An _avöy_ will show you to your place."

_My **place**?_

"A what?!"

"A Teacher." And she was gone from him in a flash of gold.

_A Teacher? What nonsense...?!_

But Voldemort had no time to ponder. A tap on his shoulder alerted him to yet another powerful adversary.

"Lord Voldemort..." The voice seemed to sizzle like fire. "I am Avöy Fhlint; and it is I who will escort you."

He turned; there was a tall man with curly gray hair and powder-blue eyes appraising him, dressed in bright red-orange. A symbol for fire was tattooed onto his bare left shoulder.

"Fire Teacher--or Teacher of Fire," he guessed softly.

"Very good... your mind is as sharp as was rumored so many years ago. Impressive indeed. It is a shame that your path..._strayed_. --However, I and my other _avöy_ colleagues do not teach _elements_, per se. And sadly, _you_ will never be worthy of any of _my_ teachings."

Rage bubbled inside Voldemort's throat, formed heated words. "You are all _foolish_! I have lost my patience with your flaunting of your magic. Strutting around, acting as though death is anything but a force to be exercised! It is sickening to me--"

Avöy Fhlint gripped the Dark Lord by the trinket-covered wrist; Voldemort hissed as newfound pain lanced through him.

"That will be all out of _you_."

He was pulled to the Chair of the Sentenced and thrust down as the trial began at last.

But Voldemort did not listen to the official chatter; he saw only the gleaming colors of the Council that judged him and the hatred for them all in his diluted soul. Jonathan was latched onto his thoughts--the way he smirked, the way he so assiduously guarded the ways of his people--it made him even angrier, along with a sick rush of--of _gladness_ for killing that _boy_, that _abnormality_, that embodiment of arrogance.

"...and now, we call our Sister Ren to the forefront, mother of the dearly departed. Ren, we call thee to our aid and thy enemies' destruction."

Voldemort's attention snapped away from his 'judge' and to Ren, who was walking forward with a cold stride and a black scarf tied about her, and a crowd of screaming, angry-looking people. After the screaming had reached a level none could stand, Ren turned and halted the procession. She looked like a completely different person than whom he'd just seen; vulnerable and not in control of her emotions. In a loud, trembling voice she announced:

"_Quiet!_ Quiet, all of you! I _will_ be a part of Voldemort's trial, as both I and my family deserve! Milius is busy, and so I am here. Our Jonathan _deserves_ to be honored with the punishment of his persecutor!"

She broke free from them and sat in her appointed seat, quietly.

Voldemort's red eyes glinted; he watched as someone bent down and whispered excited words into the furious mother's ear; but her enlightened expression was all he saw before he was surrounded by the angry crowd that had pursued Ren.

"You are Voldemort," one snarled, careful not to touch him. "The _Dark wizard_!"

"The One who killed our Jonathan," another chimed in.

"The One who flaunts Death like it is a toy," a third scoffed.

"Let's destroy him! It would be _too easy_!"

"That would be wrong--he is powerless!"

"Jonathan was practically powerless at his hands!"

"That is true..." the second one mused.

But the Head Judge had had enough; with a loud bellow, a few choice words and a rush of magic (unfamiliar this time), he dispersed of the furious mob. Only when they were dismissed from the courtroom by Ren did he raise his hands to begin.

"Tom Riddle--or "Lord Voldemort", as you arrogantly style yourself...you know what you are accused of. Killing a Senser is a grievous crime. Dare you take the time to repent of your senseless murder?"

Voldemort rose to his feet, imperiously. Eyes of scarlet glowed, dilated in madness; as he spoke he remembered Ren's cool tone and hidden hatred of him from moments before, and Jonathan's whispered "_obfirmo_" spell, keeping him further from his prize than he ever could hope to overturn...and he felt no mercy.

"I will _never_ repent my decision to kill that half-grown spy... _he_ slipped into _my_ world!

"I was instructing my faithful Death Eaters the night of the seventh of July... and I sensed an unfamiliar presence lurking on the outskirts of our little meeting. Lord Voldemort does not have patience with spies--in fact I have zero tolerance for them--and so I immediately appeared behind him. I daresay he tried then to escape, but though he put up a good fight my--ah--_operatives_ caught him and brought him to me. He had sealed his own fate!"

Disgusted silence entranced them all--the Judicial Counsel (including and especially Ren and the Head Judge), the audience within the court, and the mob that had been thrown outside, reduced to eavesdropping.

At last, the Head Judge spoke.

"Very well. You have made your decision, _Riddle_... To continue with this trial properly, I shall summon _him_ back to aid us for a time..."

Voldemort felt a thrill of terror and confusion race through him.

"What...?!"

Ren was smiling a strange, strange smile; her eyes were abnormally bright. She said audibly to the Head Judge, "He is still traveling. I miss him, and I _wish_ to, granted, but dear Head...it has not yet been a year...how _could_ we...?"

"He comes, Ren. Rejoice at the justice of it!"

Ren started to cry silently, and for that first reason Voldemort lost sight of her.

The second reason: all the court was crying out in joy very suddenly.

The third: all the Death Eaters, on the other hand, were calling his name fearfully, pointing at the person flickering to life in that grand, grand room...

And the last reason, staring him in the face in such a familiar way, made Voldemort's blood go cold.

Then he felt his heart, along with all time around him, stop completely.

His mind went numb.

His hands shock; he trembled.

The awful red pupils dilated even more than they had before...

And he paled to the point of equal translucence with...with...

_It _can't_ be...!!_

But it was--and now, seeing it, Voldemort opened his thin lips and knew fear of these people (so connected with his prize, _his goal_, that _must_ have caused this) as he choked out words.

"Oh, my--"

* * *

"Tea?"

Remus Lupin looked up sharply; Molly Weasley was hovering over him, smiling, holding a tray with steaming mugs.

"Oh...sure, all right."

She placed the mug gently on the table in front of him and moved away, to let the other mugs cool off. He smiled; she had remembered that he liked his tea warm--he sipped gratefully--and sweet.

"How have you been, Remus?"

He snapped back from the daze he'd started to return to. "...Okay."

He saw Molly purse her lips in the corner and sighed. All right, so he wasn't "_okay_"--did he need reminding every single second?

To the bustling Molly, busying herself with cleaning the Order's dinner plates, the feelings of Remus himself weren't _exactly_ her number one priority. She brought her own mug to the couch and sat next to him, saying, "I don't mean to disregard you, Remus... but...you know Sirius's death hasn't only affected _you_, right? That Harry is hurting too?"

A rush of pain and sorrow surged through Remus at the mention of Sirius--his last friend left, his only confidante... the only one he'd had left to talk to, to cry with over the loss of Lily and James and Peter (yes, _Peter_); gone in a flash of light and a flutter of some mysterious curtain...

_But yes, I know that Harry is hurting, too._

Harry's image flashed across his mind--the last time he had seen the boy, he'd been holding him; gripping tightly as he trembled, screamed, and his green eyes deadened while crying out for Sirius...

_How is he?_ Remus wondered for perhaps the fourth time in a week. _He hasn't answered anyone's letters, he barely sends us the required letter every three or four days... what is he _doing_, cooped up in that house?_

_Can he _really_ be taking this worse than I am?_

Out loud he told Molly, "Yes, I know I'm not the only one suffering."

She shifted restlessly. "Well, if _you_ know, and _I_ know, and everyone else _claims_ to know...why aren't we _doing_ something about it?"

Remus sighed. Time to switch over to Formal Voice. "Molly, you've heard what Professor Dumbledore has repeatedly said to the Order on many occasions, as have I: Harry stays at Privet Drive because the spell placed on his blood protects him as long as he stays there. Additionally, there is a set amount of time Harry must stay with his family in order to renew that bond."

"They are **_not_** his family!" Molly cried passionately; her cheeks were flushed.

"I used the term loosely. I am fully aware of how they truly feel about each other."

Silence fell between them. Remus's thoughts turned back to Sirius and his fingers clenched; Molly seemed to bite her lip as substitute for her tongue.

It was the Weasley matron who spoke first.

"...I'm so **_worried_** about him, Remus."

"And you think I'm not?"

Molly nodded guiltily; Remus's brown eyes widened. She amended hastily, "Oh, Remus...I didn't mean it like that. Well, I _did_, but then...oh you wouldn't understand! I feel like I'm the only one who's thinking constantly of Harry's welfare..."

He felt his temper rise. "Molly--things aren't at their very best for me right now. In my mind, Harry and Sirius are conflicting, fighting for my attention. One of my _best friends_ just _died_, Molly! Died! And the other has locked himself up and won't let anyone reach out to him! I'm trying to get a move on--but with our situation..."

The front door opened softly, then closed; to Remus's amazement, the portrait of Sirius's mother remained silent. Both adults (or at least Remus) paused in their argument as the newcomer walked gracefully in.

Both witch and wizard said politely, "Good evening, Professor."

"Good morning, I believe, actually," a deep, gentle voice mused, and then Albus Dumbledore came fully into sight. Today his robes were a glorious dark green, with little stars winking here and there. His spectacles, which usually magnified his bright blue eyes, were slightly lopsided--in fact everything from his silver hair to his boots looked windswept. But he _was_ smiling, if hesitantly.

Remus smiled welcomingly, despite his own still-conflicting emotions.

"You look tired."

"I am indeed," he agreed, but Remus detected more. Albus seemed a little ragged--or more like two parts sad and one part frightened--sad in the face of Sirius's death and Harry's deep-seated pain, and yet afraid--so afraid--of going to see Harry, of looking at the boy without a desk between them, of _comforting_ him...

..._Of actually coming to terms with who Harry_ is._ Or, rather, who he has become..._

It was a mean thought, but Remus was feeling crueler than usual with everything spiraling down around him. Nevertheless, he found himself watching Albus with mild interest (something akin to curiosity).

"Would you like some tea?" Molly offered, the "kind mother" resurfacing. "It may be a little lukewarm..."

He thanked her graciously, and took the third mug from the forgotten tray--now two remained. Curiosity piqued, Remus heard himself ask, "Whom do the others belong to?"

"One is for Arthur," Molly explained, "and the other is for Sirius's cousin, Mrs. Andromeda Tonks, whom I met only yesterday."

Albus's silver brows furrowed. "Sirius's...cousin?" Then they smoothed. "Ah, yes."

"When I met her, she said she might come by with her husband Ted... I hope she and Harry meet. She didn't believe that _Daily Prophet_ nonsense about him."

Albus's and Remus's smiles were both partially bitter.

The old man sat, with an exausted sigh; his eyes did not twinkle as he said softly, "I heard your little 'disagreement' earlier through the front door."

Remus felt his cheeks go warm; he looked over and saw the Weasley matron fidgeting.

"We..."

The Headmaster interrupted, uncharacteristically. "You have something you wish to discuss?"

Remus shook his head, puzzled, and Molly started in. "In fact I do. Albus, I've told you this time and again--Harry needs to be with people who actually _love_ him, who know and care about what he's been through!"

"And you think," Albus asked sadly, "that I don't know either of those things?"

Remus twiddled his thumbs and murmured, "You come across that way."

The temperature in the room became suddenly colder.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what he means!" Molly became aggressive. "Every summer you make excuses, new reasons why Harry has to stay with _those people_ for 'just a little longer'! For the past two years, despite the fact that Harry was IN PAIN, you've still dawdled in all your "attempts" to bring him to us!"

Albus's face flushed. "I was--and still am--doing what is best for him. I always have been."

"Oh really? Then why didn't Harry go to _you_ last year when he was being hurt? Why didn't he trust _you_, Albus?"

Albus turned away, face going still pinker; Remus, squinting, saw a glimmer in his eyes that was not his usual sparkle. "I have been asking myself those very same questions since last fall."

Molly faltered; to amend his rudeness Remus said gently, "This last year was hard on everyone... and sometimes boys drift away from their loved ones and role models because they want to show them that they're brave, too."

Albus's response to these touching words was a light shudder and a barely-supressed sob.

Molly whispered, "Well, I wish it hadn't come to that..."

No one spoke after that for a while. Albus murmured softly to himself, Molly sipped the remains of her tea and Remus got up the courage to speak once more. He pulled a small, torn roll of parchment--Harry's latest letter to the Order, three days old--and read it aloud, ignoring the other two's jerks of surprise:

_To the Order of the Phoenix (again):_

_Nothing is going on here. I'm fine; no dementors yet. You aren't needed._

_Harry_

Albus's shoulders tensed; he turned around and his blue eyes were blazing.

"We "aren't needed"? Nothing's "going on"? Oh, that _boy_...when I get my hands...!" He seemed rather lost for words; or at least so angry that he could not form them. The fight seemed to go out of him a moment later--he had stood for a few moments, but now he sank back into his chair.

"He needs a guardian," Remus said quietly.

The other two started, then nodded solemnly.

"If he had someone taking care of him, treating him like a human being...he might actually respond positively, instead of...like this. Depressed. Hurting."

"Angry at the world," Albus supplied softly. His fingers gripped the silk fabric of his green robes and twisted it, restlessly and anxiously.

"And that is why _I_," Molly concluded, "should be his guardian--Arthur and I, that is."

The temperature dropped again.

Remus shuddered.

Albus's voice remained calm and low. "And I suppose you have a perfectly good reason why there should be no other option?"

She straightened defensively. "Why, _yes_! Arthur and I have had seven children, in case you haven't noticed--"

"The Sorting Hat saw fit to remind me of that each year."

"--and they have--_all_--turned out just fine, thank you!"

Remus knew that her hesitation was due only to Percy--her treasured middle son, her darkling, her fallen angel.

Albus bowed his silver head in acknowledgement; he had liked the young, aspiring boy he remembered. But in this issue he would not back down by any means.

"Many, including yourselves, think of me as a manipulative old man whose life started when he defeated Grindelwald. That is not so. I have feelings just as others do, _especially_ about others. --Did you know that I was once married?"

Remus's head shot up once again; his brown eyes widened.

_Wow, never would've thought..._

"Really?"

And then, curiously... "What...was she like?"

The Headmaster's eyes misted over; a dreamy smile came over his lined face. He murmured almost to himself: "She was...a ray of sunshine on a cloud-free day, if you'll excuse the metaphor... We were very much in love. There were many fun times between us... she would make me laugh with her cleverness, and I would make her laugh by making a complete fool of myself in front of her...our happiness simply could not be touched.

"And, Molly--we planned on having a child of our own, as soon as Grindelwald was vanquished...but plans changed quickly."

Remus felt a completely foreign sadness wash over him (and Molly too, by the looks of it); followed by a hundred questions exploding within him. They were answered with one sentence:

"She...was one of Grindelwald's first targets."

* * *

Remus had started pacing back and forth across the living room when the discussion picked up where it had left off.

Heatedly.

"You are the _Headmaster_," the Weasley mother persisted. "You were busy enough as it was _before_ You-Know-Who came back! How are you going to provide enough love for a boy like Harry?"

_Still she refuses to just come out and say "Voldemort". It's rather refreshing, _really_..._

"Very easily. I love Harry like a father loves his son...I would do anything to make him smile. And _certainly_ I would put aside my piles of paperwork and the Ministry's frequent owls to make sure Harry was well and happy!"

"Do you know his favorite food, Albus? What about what's happened to him in every Quidditch game since his first year? And his deepest desire...?"

It did not take long for Albus to reply. "I would hazard a guess at treacle tarts, as I do enjoy them myself... And, in order, using one event per year--he has swallowed the Snitch, lost all the bones in one arm, been chased by dementors, and--sadly--been banned from playing...a ban I can, however, easily lift. And as for the last... a family. _His_ family." He paused a moment, then went on slowly. "I have no doubt that I could be Harry's guardian...so I ask _you_ to trust me!"

"Wait a moment."

Two heads, red and silver, swiveled around to face Remus--who felt suddenly angry.

"Haven't either of you considered _me_ being Harry's guardian?!" _I _am_, after all, the one who brought the idea to your attention!_

Albus blinked; Molly said almost to herself, "I thought...with your condition..."

"My 'condition'," Remus heard himself snarl, "occurs only once a month; and surely Harry could stay with someone else (say, yourselves) for _two or three days_!"

There were shrugs from the other two; it was with a pronounced hesitance that Molly Weasley persisted still.

"Remus--I don't mean to offend--but at times, and sometimes times of importance, you have come off as a bit...passive."

_Passive?!_

"**Passive**?!" Remus exploded, and Albus looked a little shocked; this furthered the werewolf's fury, and he rounded fully on Molly.

"You think with _Harry_, the sweetest, most brave and sensitive boy I've ever known, that I'd be _passive_?! Harry's--he's--"

Albus said it with a palpable degree of fondness in his voice. "He's the most extraordinary boy in the world. And yet perhaps the most miserable at the moment, too..."

"Then--so--_why don't either of you believe that I can help him_?"

"Neither of us said--"

"But that is what you meant. Neither of you are perfectly free, I might point out--Molly, _you_ don't realize that you can't just erase the horrors of Harry's past with good food and sweaters! Albus, _you_ are so busy that he would soon see your just _looking_ his way as a blessing! And you **dare** to say that _I_ ca--"

There was a light tapping on the doorframe.

While Remus's face lost its scarlet flush for shock, Albus called, "Come in, dear girl."

Hermione Granger came in less assuredly than her headmaster had; she looked around a moment, from face to face, then blushed and stammered: "Am--am I interrupting?"

Molly softened--right back into her mothering ways with one gentle smile. "Oh Hermione, dear...you're fine, we're just having... a little disagreement."

Albus nodded, pacifyingly. Remus was still a little pink but he nodded, too. _That sounded better when Albus said it..._

"Um...I was wondering...if there was any tea? --I mean, if it isn't too much trouble..."

"Not at all! In fact, here--have Arthur's, I'll fix him another--"

Hermione took the cold mug without protest. Remus found himself examining her curiously. She was different. He couldn't quite place all the changes that had come to her--only that her gray eyes were brighter than usual...

"Professor Dumbledore, Professor Lupin, Mrs. Weasley... I'm worried about Harry, too."

If she had not been talking about a boy he cared so much about, Remus was sure he would have instantly interrupted her to remind her that he was no longer a professor, and had not been for three years now.

The angry twinkle in Albus's eyes disappeared completely. Worry appeared in them instead. "Why? What has happened to Harry?"

"That's the thing, I d-don't know!"

Molly rubbed the girl's back gently, ordering her to drink more tea and stay calm. "It's all right, Hermione... Can you tell us more?"

It took the girl a moment to calm down. "I wish I could... All I know is what you know--he doesn't answer our letters, not even fr-from anyone else besides Ron or me. Luna told me she hasn't heard a s-single reply ot the ones _she_ sent... I even tr-tried to _call_ him!"

Albus's eyebrows raised again, this time with his excitement and curiosity. "You tried to..._call_?"

"Yes, in a last-ditch effort. His aunt told me he said he didn't want to talk to me...and judging by the past week, I don't think she was lying..."

Remus felt pity suffuse his insides.

_I hadn't considered the effect Harry's silence would have on his closest friends..._

Hermione sobbed once, and Albus made a soft shushing sound. (He seemed to have some practice with upset adolescents after all.) She looked gratefully from him to Molly and to Remus, with a hopeful expression that made Remus wish, for the thousandth time in his life, that he had not been bitten at the age of seven. Molly gave the girl a handkerchief, which she promptly used and gave back. Almost immediately, her back straightened. Sooner than the older trio expected, she smiled, and placed her now-empty mug on the coffee table Sirius had once casually put his feet on.

"Thank you all--for listening, I mean. I'd better go back upstairs..."

Remus protested, having found his voice at last. "Hermione, our disagreement is over now. You are more than welcome to stay."

"Oh, it's fine--I have some stuff to think about, anyway..."

She was gone in a rush of brown hair. The remaining adults, sobered, turned back to one another. Hermione's short stay had shown them all how stupid they were acting--so all of the apologies went unspoken.

Mugs were deposited in the sink solemnly; then Molly whispered: "We must get him _out_ of Privet Drive! He will suffer there!"

"He _**is**_ suffering there," Remus responded, equally quietly. "Albus..."

And they both turned to their champion of Light--hoping, praying, that he mmight have some perfect advice, some genius solution--that he would be the Savior he had always been.

The savior had no such comforts. But he **_did_** have words:

"Harry will not suffer any longer. As long as we surround him with love, give him what Voldemort took from him...Harry will then flower. He will become a man, and he will love, and fight, and perhaps even save us all.

"...But that is **_if_** we act now... And we are running out of time."

* * *

Green eyes opened blearily, then squinted when the light hit them. Dark, messy hair quivered, pressed damp to Harry Potter's forehead, as the effect of a nightmare-before-waking. Said boy closed his eyes and rolled over, back into darkness, back into sleep.

Well, not entirely.

Harry _would_ have gone right back to sleep (it being 6:00 in the morning) and stayed there indefinitely, but a few moments after waking, jsut after rolling over... he felt a familiar tickle in his mind.

He smiled vaguely.

_Hi, Rivers_.

_**Hey, Harry. You catch on quickly to mind invasions.**_

He laughed darkly, remembering Occlumency with Snape. _I guess I do. And _you_ must have little to do, since you've called on me twice now, within twenty-four hours, and after a nightmare of mine--like clockwork_.

A laugh from the other end, distant but fervent.

_**Ha, ha. Actually I came to tell you that I'll be 'checking in' on you less often than I thought, due to some...new developments.**_

Harry stood and stretched. _You're--er--crossing over more quickly? Or something?_

_**Yeah, something like that. Who knows, maybe I'll write you after I'm settled.**_

Harry kept quiet, not exactly sure if he knew enough about Rivers to respond correctly. Regardless, he felt the other one's exasperation.

_**I was **_joking**_, Harry_.**

_Oh. Right._

An awkward pause, one in which Harry could not feel Rivers's presence in his immediate mind. During this time, he woke Hedwig gently and stroked her feathers, feeding her gradually; she did not seem as hungry as usual, and he found no explanation in her depthless amber eyes...

Ah! There he was.

_**So what are you doing, O Boy Who Lived?**_

Harry grimaced. He despised that title. _Pushing everyone who cares for me away, obviously, according to letters. Try it sometime._

_**Oh, I have. Why at this time, or at all?**_

_...I lost someone I was just getting to know. My--my godfather._

_**...Wow, that sucks.**_

Harry felt rage resurface in him. So what if Rivers didn't _know_ Sirius; couldn't he at least spare some emotion for his death? Some compassion?

_What is wrong with you?! Can't you at least show some respect?_

_**What?**_

_Death crept up on my godfather and took him away from me...the least you could do is acknowledge that maturely!_

He breathed in and out, roughly.

In. Out. In. Out.

Rivers's answer came in almost a calming way; it was bright, like sunshine on water.

**_...Sorry about that. See, I didn't...don't...have much experience with death. And before all this--what with my past--death was a bit of an oxymoron._**

Harry didn't respond for a moment. It had just occured to him that he had a letter to send to the Order, as this was the third (well, actually ninth) day once more. This was the extent of his conversation with his world: he had already concluded that if he did not write, as Mad-Eye Moody had instructed, the world he had temporarily rejected would come to him, retrieve him--and his new plan would not work if that happened.

He had to write, consistently, and count on Professor Dumbledore's procrastination in matters involving him (_see, Dumbledore, you're not the _only_ one who can come up with plans_)_,_ and then find some way of informing said world that he would not be returning for quite a while.

_Yeah, completely simple._

**_Harry? Did I offend you? ...Harry...?_**

_What?_ He tuned back in. _No...you're fine..._

**_Good, because...I didn't come to antagonize you; I came to warn you._**

A prickle of apprehension settled into Harry's chest.

_Warn me?_

When he voiced this worry Rivers's words seemed to darken, cloud. **_Yeah. There's great danger heading your way, Harry... And I'm afraid that it's all our fault._**

Harry's insides froze; privately he thought: _Our?_ Outwardly he asked, _What danger is this?_

**_You don't sound afraid._**

_By now I'm very used to danger heading my way._

He tuned back out, snatching up a piece of parchment as he did. Sighing, he reiterated once more:

_To the Order,_

_All remains well; no action. Don't bother to come._

_Harry_

_That ought to do it. Two more days alone, in the queue._

**_Harry! Stop retreating. What I'm going to tell you--to _**entrust**_ to you--is _**very**_ important!! --I mean it! Come back!_**

Harry sighed inwardly, returning half-heartedly to the part of his mind that Rivers rested in. _Whoopee...more unpleasantness for Harry._

**_Complain when you're dead, Harry--and we're all hoping that doesn't happen._**

_Stay out of my business!_ Harry flared again. _Just _tell_ me!_

**_Listen well. You see, it starts with a group of people I can't explain, that I was part of--well, still am, really. --I can hear your thoughts, Harry, and I'm _**not**_ amused. For the wizarding world's savior, you're rather arrogant._**

_Want to trade places?_ Harry's fists were clenched around the parchment, even if uselessly. He knew somehow that Rivers, to his own fortune, was very far away--and a bit ethereal at that._ Want to have no family and have your whole world hate you and your friends not understand you?! Feel free to work whatever stupid magic you have and make that possible, Rivers, because I've been stuck in a prim-perfect house with volatile relatives for almost a week and a half now, and thinking every second I've been here. Thinking a _lot_, about a lot. And I've decided that I've had ENOUGH!_ (He felt Rivers wince at the volume of that one word, but he raced on.)_ I just want to he left alone until I kill Voldemort, until I die!_

Rivers's response was taut and dry. **_I pity your little sucky life, but if you don't hear my tale, Voldemort's "sudden new powers", as I can just hear some fool future wizard describing it, will overwhelm your entire world, and you will not be the only one to die (however that is). I was one of the first of many. If you don't _**grow up**_, more will come, and it will no longer be only my fault!_**

The equally-long response left Harry cold; but with sullenness rather than shock. The revelation that he was speaking to a dead person did not really puzzle or horrify him. Certainly it cleared up the mystery of some of the things his 'companion' had said in their first "meeting", along with how unreal the other boy had always felt.

_And certainly it is weird_.

_Shut _up, he told himself fiercely. _I have to assume all of what's going on eventually--because Rivers, dead or not, is right: Voldemort will try and hurt my friends if I don't use my time away from Hogwarts to cut off all of his attempts to get more power. I have to thwart all his plans until he falls..._constrict_ him, if you will..._

The analogy brought a strange smile to his face, an odd sparkle to the usually dull and lifeless emerald eyes.

**_...Are you done laughing at your little private Voldemort joke?_**

_Yeah, I am. Tell me everything you can._

Pause.

Pause.

Emptiness.

Then--

_There you are._

**_...Okay, Harry? I want you to imagine, if you will, a bolt of unimaginable power..._**

* * *

Harry stood frozen, staring out his small window. In a daze, he tied his note to the stretching Hedwig's leg, opened said window and watched her retreat from his vision with a backward, affectionate hoot. Rivers's words echoed within him at random intervals:

_unimaginable power..._

_ultimate destruction..._

_Voldemort has somehow discovered it..._

And in Harry's view, the whiteness became a shapeless blob, a dot...and then no more.

* * *

~**Chapter Three has now been edited!**~

Kitsune-Arii: (wipes forehead) And you claim to be such a good speller.

~**Songs We're Listening To:** _Good Girls Go Bad _by Cobra Starship, featuring Leighton Meester~

See you later!


	4. Dream in Glass

~**Chapter Four is now being the-least-tampered with!**~

I still don't own Harry Potter. Nope. Not even on his and Ms. Rowling's birthday. Darn.

I just love oxymorons. While typing this, I noticed there were a lot...? ...Sorry, guys.

Dennis Flippens acts weird. I won't deny it. There is something wrong with that Muggle. He's not an OC--I found his name in SS/PS. Lilian _is_ an OC, by accident only.

Thanks to my continuous reviewers! And if anyone sees Valinor the White Phoenix, bring him to me on a chain. You're not leaving my sight again, buddy.

* * *

Chapter Four: Dream in Glass

* * *

The room had remained quiet and unoccupied for five years, seven months and eight days--not counting the one day it had taken to move a tall, regal object into its large and overly dusty space. The door was cold and numbing from lack of use--and then, just one moment later, it was not.

The knob clicked, turned, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore slipped into the room, his bright blue eyes looking nervously sideways as if afraid of being seen. He closed it again quickly, breathing a sigh of relief at being alone--even if for a few minutes. Paperwork had stretched him thin the last few weeks--he had, of course, anticipated its return ever since his second graceful departure from Hogwarts (and by fault of the Ministry once more, no less!), but it was not any more welcome...

_Especially when I did not anticipate Sirius's death._

A lump came into his throat; the doubled paperwork thoughts evaporated at once. Sirius's death had hit him as hard as others; in a way it had been a relief to have him back, innocent as he was to so few. He brought smiles to many formerly drawn faces, especially Remus's; he had come up with clever plans in meetings that had kept the Death Eaters in the dark; and most importantly, he had made Harry happy.

_But in the blink of an eye--and by his own family...oh, Sirius, you could not have left at a more horrible time! If only you hadn't let Bellatrix get the better of you..._

Albus closed his eyes for a few moments, breathing in and out sharply. His tears had already been shed for Sirius and his life; the reason he had swept here now, after five years of resisting the temptation, was what made his crooked nose, and the half-moon spectacles on them, tremble; and what caused his long fingers to be anxiously clutching the fabric of his sherbet-orange robes, and twisting it in what had quickly become an unconscious habit.

Temptation had caught up with him at last. It had been much longer than five little years since he and the object he now sought had first met, and now: well, here he was again, back at last to answer the question that had gnawed at his insides for so long.

_What do I see now?_

It was there when Albus looked, as he knew it would be. The Mirror of Erised beckoned silently to the old man once more--remembering him, welcoming him.

He took a hesitant-yet-longing step toward it, feeling it pull at him, feeling its beckoning grow sharper... He could see the frightened expression on his face in the reflection, but no one or thing had formed behind him...yet.

Thoughts of Harry had plagued his mind since their last "encounter" in his office. And not just images of the boy as he had seen him last, either: memories of the small infant tucked in blankets, of the curious eleven year-old on a train, of the daring twelve year-old bleeding and triumphantly holding up a sword, of the family-starved thirteen year-old...

_Well, poor Harry was family-starved every year._

Albus stopped; he was within range to see, _and _going as far as he could without his feelings breaking loose from him. Mysterious emotions had swirled around in him, huge and raging; he had lost sleep, his appetite, and some of his sanity thinking about the last sixteen years of his life--and particularly the last year.

The mirror's glass shimmered ominously.

Frightened, Albus faltered. _Maybe I shouldn't be doing this..._

Too late. He could already see a picture forming, materializing in the space beside his reflection...

He gasped, blinking rapidly like a man just waking.

Two people stood next to him, their laughter unheard, stepping as close to his reflection as was possible without tripping over each other. One was the most beautiful woman in the world--she smiled at him, her eyes shining, her hand resting casually on his shoulder. Mirror-Albus smiled back at her, offering her a candy the real Albus _knew _had to be a lemon drop--and true-to-form, she refused, her smile not wavering. Albus felt his knees give out, sending him to the floor, when she kissed his reflection's cheek--and said reflection blushed. _Blushed!_

What kept him staring was the boy on the other side of his reflection--a tall young thing, bright and happy as Albus had never quite seen in such amounts. His remarkable hair and sparkling eyes would have picked him out a mile away; Albus found that he was selfishly overjoyed to see the boy smiling at the other him, scooting close into the sudden embrace that had never quite happened in real life... His joy increased tenfold as Mirror-Albus kissed the free boy's forehead tenderly--yes, _free_, for in the background the headmaster had seen an ink-black cloak he'd realized almost instantly was Lord Voldemort's...

Albus did not realize that he had leapt up and closed the distance between himself and the Mirror of Erised until he had: he recalled a flash, a hurried rustling of his own robes and cloak, a glimpse of those infamous words atop the gold frame (_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi_), and this his crooked nose was pressed longingly to the cold glass, heart aching, pressing as close as possible.

"Oh..." It was half sigh, half moan. He remembered now how Harry must have felt, seeing what his parents looked like for the first time...he knew it must be some sort of madness on his part, but...

_They're _right there_!_

His hunger sharpened in intensity, watching them all touch each other playfully and laugh in their joy. Hunger would soon be replaced by hot jealousy--

"Albus!!"

--Or, rather, it _would have_ been replaced by hot, burning, blazing jealousy if Remus Lupin and a young woman he'd not seen in years hadn't just rushed in. Before he could turn around to rage at them for interrupting, the woman burst into speech--enough time for him to get his sudden temper under control.

"Professor, you probably don't remember me, but I'm Andromeda Tonks--"

"I both remember and see." He looked curiously at her through his spectacles: same long, dark hair and drilling-yet-soft hazel eyes.

"Not now, Andromeda!" Remus was in a flurry. His face was flushed.

"I hate to--er--barge in--" he took in his surroundings with a decidedly puzzled air-- "but--see--Severus just sent his Patronus!"

"What?!"

Over the past couple of days, Severus had vanished on the Dark Lord's "will" and not come back or reported in any way since then--while the rest of the Order had panicked, Albus had remained serene with his trust. Well, outwardly: on the inside he had worried secretly. Before in the first war, when people had disappeared as Severus had, they hadn't _exactly_ come back...

"He says they are not yet released (whatever _that_ means) but that Voldemort slipped some of his Death Eaters out to try and infiltrate Azkaban. They're currently running into resistance with some dementors that have stayed since the breakout, but--"

He was interrupted by Andromeda.

"Stayed...? But why?"

"A simple matter of wanting nothing to do with the unknown," Albus replied smoothly. "They preferred to stay where they could be--ah--_fed_ dependably. Rest assured the Ministry offered them nothing!"

She smiled wryly.

Remus was wringing his hands. "Albus, _they're already there_. We have to go _now_!"

Albus's shoulders slumped. He hoped--or had hoped, rather, that this "new little problem" would not require his assistance to sort out for once; but it did, and so he knew that he must go to the Order's aid.

"Who is already there?"

"About a third of us, maybe less. No, even--Andromeda's filling in."

"Then make that a third plus one--I am coming."

Remus and Andromeda smiled before hastening out.

Albus was alone again with the mirror.

He turned back to it--he could still see the faces of his beloved, laughing and waving at him. He took a step toward it, wanting to lose himself in it again...

_No!_

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he gathered his cloak around him and rushed after his colleagues, not looking back.

And the pictures in the glass slowly faded...

* * *

It was Hedwig who woke Harry later, at a much more decent hour, when she flew back in (with a note from Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place) and found him snoozing on the desk. As she landed, her snow-white feathers brushed his forehead; and he awoke, slowly but surely, groaning half-heartedly. He stretched from head to foot and showered soon after, barely beating Dudley to the bathroom; afterward he went downstairs, to check the time; though his watch hadn't worked since the Second Task in fourth year, so much had gone on that it hadn't really been top priority.

_Well, _now_ it can be._

He felt his forehead idly. Hmmmm...pretty warm. Was something wrong? He didn't feel any different... ah, well. He'd _just_ got out of the shower, and he'd gladly used as much warm water as could be allowed...that was it, yes. Nothing else strange.

* * *

The Dursleys were eating calmly when he leapt off the last stair. Uncle Vernon glared at Harry in between bites of sausage, which the boy replied to with a winning, I'm-_such_-a-good-nephew-aren't-I? smile. Dudley just kept shoving bacon into his mouth.

He addressed the table casually. "I'm going out."

"Not without _this_ you aren't."

A brown bag flew into Harry's line of vision--he caught it swiftly, with one outstretched hand. He looked to the thrower--his Aunt Petunia.

"Mmmm, your father's reflexes. --_You_, boy, are not going _anywhere_ until you eat that. You lose weight by the day."

Harry opened the bag--_biscuits and bacon_? "What, has someone_ checked in?_"

She blushed angrily--but with a hint of shame the withdrawn boy did not detect. He would have eaten it cautiously--he suspected poison--but not eating for almost two weeks had had its effects--and deep down he was _starving_!

"_Now_, Harry. If I have to shove it down your throat I will."

He gulped it down quickly, mentally uttering a silent apology to Sirius for dishonoring him in such a way--with this and the luncheon Dennis Flippens's mother had planned for him. _This'll be interesting_.

Harry turned around, heading for the hallway and thus the door--on the way out, he tossed a casual word over his shoulder.

"Thanks."

Aunt Petunia's mouth dropped open--and her still-burning-hot spatula dropped onto her son's outstretched arm. Dudley's screams thus followed Harry down the walk and almost all the way to tiny downtown Surrey's watch shop.

* * *

"Nice watch," Dennis smirked, three hours later.

"Thanks, because I actually _like_ it." And Harry did--it was blue-green with a gray face, something he had found just as he was preparing to leave, defeated.

"Where were you? I thought you'd be early or something."

"I was busy." _Busy thinking about Sirius __**again**__._ "I have a _life_, Dennis."

"You're chipper today. Do I need to go on home and wait up for you?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, that'd be great. Bye."

Dennis frowned, but obliged as he did with everyone--he was up the road in seconds.

With the other boy gone, Harry felt free to drag his feet a little more than he had been. There hadn't been anything delivered via owl post that could distract Harry from his grief--if anything it had sharpened considerably, to the point where curling up in a ball and brooding silently sounded pretty good.

_Definitely the slowest and worst two weeks of my life..._

He chastised himself. _Stop. You don't want Dennis's mum to think you're some sort of mental case._

_--Now _think_. Dennis's house is number eight, apparently, so..._

He ambled down Privet Drive, counting mentally. Number two--then number four (ah, there was his aunt in the living room)--then six--and Harry recognized number eight from last night, just there.

"_There_ you are!"

Harry flinched; he glanced up and saw Dennis's mum, hurrying down the walk toward him. He felt as shy as a first year. She did not seem to mind, however; the moment she reached him, she put an arm around his shoulders and guided him to the door.

"How are you?"

"I'm...okay."

"Sure? You look a little peaky..."

_LEAVE ME ALONE!!_

"I assure you, Mrs. Flippens, I'm fine."

She frowned but didn't pursue the subject; instead she changed it. "Well, Harry, how is school?"

_Wonderful. Another question I can't and won't answer_. "Er..."

They had reached the door; she pushed _it_ open and _him_ inside. "Oh, never mind now--we'll discuss it over lunch, I'm sure--_Dennis_! Den-_nis_!"

"I'm _coming_, Mum!"

Harry was guided to a seat on the couch and offered food that, looking back now, he hardly remembered--he felt on the defensive from the moment Dennis's mother sat across from him and laid her eyes on his.

"So, Harry--tea? No? All right--I don't really know that much about you. In fact, I know most every child in Little Whinging _except_ you."

_I feel like I'm with Rita Skeeter. Might as well oblige her._

_Well, let's see: my life was a nightmare up until the age of eleven, when I learned I was a wizard. Dramatic turn--I learned I was famous for destroying the dark wizard who killed my parents, orphaning me, and that everyone else knew BUT me!_

_Then I went to school. In the span of five years, I've been tortured, expelled, wounded, broken, entered into deathly tournaments, in correspondence with a convicted murderer, fallen from brooms, abused and ignored. Oh yeah, and NEARLY KILLED EVERY YEAR!! Lately someone else (like my __**godfather**__, my own godfather) takes that punishment..._

"I'm a bit of a mysterious case. _No_ one here knows much about me."

That did not back her off (as he had intended it to). "My dear, misguided-yet-loyal son Dennis tells me that you were sent to St. Brutus's for assaulting another child."

Harry's dark brows rose.

"He also said he believed that to be a fabrication."

Pause.

Pause.

"Yes," Harry began carefully, "that _may_ have been a blatant lie."

"In this situation, I prefer _fabrication_. From the way Dennis recounted it, it seemed to me that you were 'spinning a story', shall we say, to keep your cousin and those boys away from you."

Harry gave her a have-it-your-way (Harry-esque, basically) shrug, already tired of the conversation that had barely lasted five minutes. According to Dennis's mother _yesterday_, it was only going to be 'a luncheon', which was basically a 'talk-casually-and-mostly-eat' affair. Rita Skeeter hadn't asked this many questions. He might have to re-evaluate how similar the two were.

"Mrs. Flippens, I hate to be rude--"

"Yes?"

"--but _why_ are you asking me all these questions?"

She pushed back her dark curls. Her thumbs twiddled, seemingly unconsciously. "I am very curious about you."

"I was curious as to how Dennis got smart, but instead of asking, I _looked_ and _listened_. And lo and behold--soon, I learned. You."

She blinked, dumbfounded. (That was probably the only reason he wasn't scolded for such cheek.)

"I _love_ hearing people speak of me," a voice above their heads remarked in dry monotone, and Dennis leaped down the last of the stairs to meet them, waltzing over to the couch. Harry glared at him as he sat (_You little _rat_, Dennis_), but his negative energy seemed to bounce off the other boy; inside his home, his sanctuary from all the bullies and 'cool people' and other dangers, he looked (and, as Harry soon saw, acted) like a completely different person.

"Dennis," his mother chided, "stop jumping down those stairs. You're _not_ a ninja--you'll hurt yourself."

"_Mum_, I've done it for years and years..."

Harry watched them squabble with an almost jealous dispassion. He'd eaten what little he was going to during Mrs. Flippens's third degree--now all he wanted was out, out, _out_.

Dennis lost the argument. He went to cheerfully eating his portion of lunch and keeping his mouth shut; his mother refocused on Harry.

"Do you let _anyone_ close to you, Harry? Anyone at all?"

_Must I tell the truth? _"Mrs. Figg who lives a few streets away."

"Mrs. Arabella Figg?" She looked crestfallen, as if she'd expected it to be someone--anyone--else.

"Yes."

Once again Dennis proved his amazing power of spouting none-of-his-business facts. "Dudley told me once that you hated her."

"I did, but we have come to an understanding. Dudley is now misinformed. Is that much of a surprise?"

"'Understanding'?"

Harry closed his lips and kept them sealed.

They continued to eat in an odd, chatty silence. Dennis spoke enough for three people, so Harry was free to zone out, leaning back against the couch cushions and deliberately avoiding any more questions. Eventually he closed his eyes because his head was pounding. Beads of sweat materialized on his forehead.

Anita Flippens watched him with growing worry. Being an over-concerned mother, she didn't like the way he avoided all her questions and looked thin and fragile in general. In fact, at this very moment she was considering marching over to the Dursleys' residence, banging on the door and asking just what in the world went on in what she considered _that house_. (She wasn't very fond of Dudley.) Her mother-hen instincts would have certainly endeared her to Molly Weasley.

"Harry?"

"...Mmm?" His eyes didn't open. His scar was searing...what was going on...?

"I looked up St. Brutus's records...there's no note of you ever attending."

_Oh my sweet Merlin. You stupid, stupid, nosy, annoying, __busybody__ of a woman._

_--And how __**exactly**__ are you and Dennis related again?_

"That's because I was expelled a few years back... So horrible...they just removed evidence that I even existed..."

(_Good one, Potter._)

"Is that so?"

_She's onto me. But I'm just too--too _tired_ to invent any more..._ "That is so."

Quiet. Very quiet.

His scar burned again... what was Voldemort _doing_?

During the silence Dennis turned around on the couch, suddenly crooning.

"Hey, boy... hey, how's it? Mmmm--no, Callistan, he's fine--it's just Harry. Go on, go say hi--say 'hi'--"

A large black creature--apparently a dog--padded around the couch, past Dennis's long legs, and over to Harry, beginning to sniff the drowsy boy's outstretched fingers; finding him likable, Callistan's bubblegum-pink tongue reached out, bathing up his fingers to his bare arm.

The half-sleeping boy giggled, shifting on the couch and trying to keep his eyes mercifully closed; but when the tickling feeling didn't cease, he opened one emerald eye blearily to stare at his furry tormentor--first in innocent pleasure, then (as a strange recognition set over him) in a sudden horror.

_Oh my god--Padfoot!!_

"What--he--I--I--"

Mrs. Flippens frowned, her gaze wavering between Harry and the dog. "Harry, what's wrong?"

Harry stood shakily, backing away from that familiar mass of shaggy, unkempt fur... "Um...thanks so much for lunch...I really must be off..."

"Why're you acting so barmy?" Dennis cocked his head curiously. "You and Lilian both. Seriously, Callistan is harmless. --Right, boy?"

A deep _woof! _was Callistan's pleasant response as he shook himself.

Harry was trembling violently. He _had-to-get-out_. "No, I'm sure he is--th-thanks again--bye now--nice seeing you again--"

He bolted, feeling nothing but a mixture of wild hope and cold despair and very concrete fear. Mrs. Flippens's cries were ignored; Dennis's obvious puzzlement was set aside.

_They'd never understand. No one understood_.

* * *

Dennis Flippens and his mother were left gaping at each other and their beloved dog (whom they'd had years, mind you) in stunned silence.

Then the Dennis-not-Dennis of number eight, Privet Drive smiled, not too kindly.

"All righty then."

"I'm worried," Anita Flippens murmured. "I'm very worried. He bolted like the devil was after him... and we were very polite, too... Just wait 'till your father gets home..."

"Talking to yourself, Mum?"

"_No_! This--I feel that this is serious. Was he always...like that?"

"As far as I knew," Dennis shrugged, "watching my former buddies beat up on him."

Another pause, this one slightly awkward. Dennis's "former life", as his father called it with an accompanying look of disgust, was not mentioned casually in the household--it had taken therapy, arguments, countless groundings, and many tears for _that_ to blow over.

"It's just... I've never met a child like him. Somehow he's...special. Unique. _Different_. Don't you think?"

"Oh yeah, Mum. Certainly. I hung out with him and my dear Lily (and weren't _we_ a motley gang) for about fifteen minutes. Add that to today's hour... yup, I know a _**lot**_."

"I am _dead serious_, young man. What's your overall impression of him?"

_The psychiatrist is coming back out again_, Dennis thought, grinning. _She's off today and _still_ working_. "Well..."

"Yes?"

Callistan snuffled loudly and went to sleep in a heap near them.

"Yup, that sums it up," Dennis muttered in agreement. "Nutters."

"_Dennis!_"

* * *

Harry retched again.

_Uggggggghhhhh_._ First the garden, now the toilet... ohhhhhhh_.

He'd barely made it back to the Dursleys' (in light of the sweltering heat; the sun seemed to have singled him out) when he'd doubled over and heaved painfully, surprising both himself and an indignant-looking tabby. After that embarrassing episode (he hoped Mrs. Number Two hadn't been watching), he'd had to crawl inside and up to the bathroom, which had been (thankfully) vacant.

He moaned and vomited a third time. His head swam; dizziness rushed over him; he couldn't understand why he felt so horribly...

"That contagious?"

Harry spat. "Very funny, Aunt Petunia."

He could hear her foot tapping. "Will I have to clean anything up?"

Coughing violently, he replied, "Rest assured, you will not."

She came fully in then, kneeling to touch his shoulder. Harry winced, closing his eyes against a wave of nausea.

She pulled her hand away. "I hope not."

"Again, _rest assured_."

Harry listened to her retreating footsteps with a sick resignation.

_She won't return_._ Wonderful_.

It would be a long afternoon.

* * *

_He hadn't thought it possible...he'd hoped...but all in vain. __**She**__ was back._

_Umbridge was back._

_"Doing well, my little liar?"_

_Harry strained, but steel chains like those at his hearing latched him to his desk. He looked around desperately; he was back in the Department of Mysteries, in the Death Chamber..._

_"You," he spat; the chains bit into his arm, causing Harry's blood to weep and his teeth to grit._

_"Me." She smiled that simpering, girlish smile. "I hope you weren't naughty while I was away..."_

_"I--I thought you--you left! You were escorted out--" He almost laughed at the memory, but terror dampened it._

_"I came back just--for--__**you**__." Her eyes glittered. She pursed her lips--then held up the most frightening quill Harry had ever had to see again. "We weren't done with our detentions, you see. Oh no; not even close."_

_"NO!" Harry's green eyes bulged madly; sweat mixed with blood, and his heart suddenly began to race. "__No__...there were no more...no..."_

_"Ready, Potter?"_

_A warm, very happy thought came to the boy just then._

_"This is a dream, only a dream... And you can't _make_ me write anymore."_

_"Can't I?" Her words chilled his previous warmth. She put the quill gently, almost lovingly to some parchment that appeared before her. "As you'll see, I've found a way to get around that..."_

_Umbridge started to write. Her quill flew across the parchment, and as it did Harry cried out--he turned over his right hand and saw those scars renewed: _I must not tell lies...

_"See? Isn't physical manipulation _wonderful_?"_

_"S-s-__**stop**__..."_

_Umbridge's smile was girlishly cruel. She slashed hatefully with the quill, and Harry's cries rose--once again, his hand bled freely..._

_"N-_no_," he whimpered; his hands reached out, grasped nothing. "No..._please_...!"_

_"You can't escape, Potter! Now you'll feel what liars deserve--what they should get--"_

_"No... I didn't do it... I didn't lie..."_

_Cuts began to materialize all over Harry's body: he moaned as arms, legs and back wept bitter red tears. Even his scar started to bleed; feeling this, he struggled harder, no longer convinced that this was only a dream._

_And just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, that evil glittering Veil unfolded to reveal the frowning form of Sirius Black._

_Umbridge's torturing and smile slipped. In fact, she seemed to freeze in place, or at least to Harry's attention..._

_Harry turned to his godfather, face streaming with tears. "Sirius--oh, Sirius--"_

_"Harry." Sirius's eyes held no warmth. "Harry _James_ Potter."_

_Harry let out a sob, flinching, shoulders sagging. That emphasis had hurt him more than any physical bruise the Dursleys had ever given him._

_"Sirius. Please. Help."_

_"You know," Sirius mused, hair dark against his deathly-pale skin, "I'd always hoped you'd be like Lily if not like James... Imagine my horror as you disgraced them both."_

_"_No_..."_

_"Bleed, Harry..." Sirius looked coldly at his godson, appraising his injuries. "Bleed like I bled in Azkaban, hoping you'd be better than you are... You deserve to bleed for everything that I had to go through!"_

_"No!"_

_"Bye, now...see you in hell."_

_"__**NOOOOO**__!"_

_Umbridge unfroze and her smile returned as Sirius turned his back, toward the Veil, toward Death. The quill rose--started toward the paper_...

* * *

Outside of the cage Harry's nightmares always were, a stranger to the room gazed at him with an unmatched fondness--and strong hints of worry. He watched the way Harry writhed under the sheets, how he screamed (how could _they_ not hear his anguish?), how his cries grew louder by the moment, how he sweated and moaned and (in his dreams) bled.

The stranger watched--oh, yes, he watched. Not long.

Then he acted.

He swept across the room, smoothing out the boy's bedcovers to sit; then he reached out one hand and caressed Harry's trembling back, murmuring soothingly.

"Shush..."

Harry's cries softened, then ceased. He continued, however, to shake violently and mumble, not near soothed. Still asleep, he reached out with one hand; the stranger took it and rubbed it between his own.

"S-s-**stop**... I didn't do it..."

"It's all right," the other consoled. "Hush, little one."

His fingertips played along Harry's spine, pressing lightly. The boy soothed slowly--first his erratic breathing, then his shaking limbs, and finally his frightened mumbling.

Then the part of the dream where Sirius came was apparent; Harry began again to cry and whimper his godfather's name, pulling away from all offered comforts.

"Sirius, _please_..."

The stranger sighed, having quickly reached his own decision. He pulled Harry out of bed, ignoring the boy's groan of protest, and into his arms.

_...This is rather soothing...why haven't I done this before_?

"_**No**_," Harry mumbled; but his head was already nestled in the man's chest, and the protest was a feeble one. His companion whispered nothings in his ear while stroking his hair. Harry began to sob quietly, letting the night's fear and pain and anguish release into another, his fingers clutching the other's robes so hard his knuckles went white.

"Oh, baby," murmured the other, kissing first Harry's cheek and then the tip of his closest ear and even his tensing fingers. "Oh, cub. Rest now..."

Harry's gasps and sobs quieted. Between his unknown savior's gentle kisses and soothing tone (for Harry could not quite make out the voice or words), his violent nightmare was fading fast, and he was ready to slip back into darkness. However--he didn't want the stranger to leave; so being powerless to completely wake and discover who he _was_ (so he might stay) wasn't the best position to be in.

Nevertheless, he felt both Umbridge's terror and the desire to be fully awake slipping away from him...

His companion smiled (though Harry could not see) and laid them both down, moving back to stroking his hair again to keep him at peace; the boy sighed, in a lasting sort of content, and his breathing finally relaxed back out. He moved into the stranger's chest, his head seeking a resting place; the other guided him with his long, thin fingers, pressing the boy lightly into the fabric of his robes. Harry shifted for long moments--then went still. He was asleep.

The man's smile widened--but seemed part-wistful. He laid his head on Harry's pillow, curling his arm about the sleeping boy's body, and pressed a last, gentle kiss to his forehead. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the thought of all he had to do tomorrow, trying to just relish _now_...

...and he was asleep within moments.

* * *

Satisfaction, comfort, peace--these were things Harry did not feel often when waking, and _especially_ not when staying with his relatives. But on the tenth of July, Harry woke to remember kisses and soothing words and someone else sleeping next to him, offering solace and an escape from nightmares--and he felt all three.

_Mmmm...what happened?_

_...Oh. Yeah. The nightmare...Umbridge...Sirius...and..._

_--Who _was_ that?_

He looked around, heart sinking at the room that was empty but for him.

_And why didn't he stay_?

* * *

Hedwig had been busy. She alerted her master of such when he returned, promptly tossing more food out his window and closing the door behind him. After the little "episode" yesterday afternoon with the toilet, he was fully intent on not eating ever again. (At first he had debated whether his aunt had simply poisoned him, but that seemed doubtful; if anything she would have done it last summer.)

"Eh? What's this...?"

Two letters were on the desk--one long, one short.

He picked up the long one first, noticing (according to the handwriting) that it was from both Ron _and_ Hermione.

_Mate,_

_How are you (for the third time)? I know Sirius is gone and all, but I'm worried you're going spare and so is Mum. _Especially_ Mum. _Especially_ Mum and Ginny. They discuss you over tea._

Harry felt his teeth clench. Not another Sirius mention. Not _another_, not so soon...

_You probably noticed Hermione's handwriting farther down. She went spare over you long ago--writing you a two-in-one letter like this was her idea. I'm to mail it to her when I'm done, which she "hopes is soon, as she has a lot to discuss with you". _Girls...

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed. So typical.

_Speaking of our bookworm, she told me to tell you that our O.W.L. results are coming soon. As if I needed to be reminded. The only good news it could carry would be 'no more Snape and Trelawney for _this_ Weasley'._

_And speaking of particular Weasleys..._

_I'm really sorry, Harry, mate, but I have two pieces of bad news. And they kind of tie together. Blame it on Mum talking to that barmy Great-Aunt Muriel for the first time in years._

_The first piece: I think I know where you're going after you leave the Dursleys (actually I think _Hermione_ knows, so I know in turn). Mum tried to reason with them (and you remember her way of reasoning), but they insisted it was "for your safety". And didn't _that_ work well last time._

_The second piece, connected to the first: Mum's forbidden me and Ginny to even go _near_ that place, even if you __are__ there. Bad vibes, she says. Too dangerous. Didn't answer when I asked why that didn't keep her from bringing us the first time. I think she's freaked out by what happened to Sirius._

_So you'll probably only see Fred and George unless Ginny raises enough of a stink. Don't think I don't care or anything--I'm just confident that she'll produce results. Faster than me, that is._

_See you soon, one way or another--_

_**Ron**_

Harry grimaced. Not only did he now have a shrewd suspicion as to where the Order would try to take him; inwardly he reflected too on how the "last time" they tried to keep him safe, Sirius had still been alive...

He coughed, choked. He had tried to deny it yesterday afternoon, but it could not be denied: he was sick. Very, hugely, **horrendously** sick. This morning had been better, but worse: he felt strange, almost lightheaded...

_Shake it off, Potter_.

Looking down, he indeed saw Hermione's handwriting:

_Harry--_

_I think Ron covered my first question; but I promise I won't badger you too much about Sirius. I can relate; I lost my grandmother before I met you and Ron. (And in case you wonder, she was the family's "lover of books" before me.)_

_Are you okay? I've thought of you often--first at home, then in Germany (we went for vacation three days ago--remind me to tell you, it was SO AMAZING!), and finally here--which, thanks to Ron's subtlety lessons (or lack thereof), you've no doubt identified. (Yes, Harry, we _do_ still have to be careful!)_

_I've talked to some of the DA members--Neville and Luna and Cho, among others--and we all agree that the DA was the best and should go on next year. With permission, of course. Cho sends her regards, and so does Marietta. Strange but true._

_O.W.L.s are so near, Harry, I can feel them! I'm excited to see what we'll all get (especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts), even if Ron's not. Hmmph._

_...I'm running out of things to say! I'd better send this off to you before it gets too long like it usually does. You'll see me soon anyway, we can talk then._

_Love from_

_**Hermione**_

_P.S.: I took the liberty of making Ron's letter easier for you to read._

Harry laughed. Same old Hermione. What a relief _**that**_ was.

He looked over at the desk again, unaware of Hedwig's amber eyes watching his every move--and saw again the second letter with a pinch of dread: he _did_ know its sender and contents, and he did not want to be enlightened.

Hedwig pecked at his fingers anyway and he yelped, shoving down a choked cough. "All right, all _**right**_!"

Harry's fingers were nimble even in sickness (and through owl attacks)--within seconds he had unrolled the parchment and, thus, his fate.

His keep-from-Hogwarts-and-magical-world-2-years plan was instantly set close to shattering:

_Harry,_

_We'll be picking you up tomorrow night._

_Be ready._

_--The Order_

_P.S.: Harry, it's Remus. Hope you're pleased with your early release; and, of course, well. See you soon._

Needless to say, Harry was neither _well_ (in any sense) nor _pleased_.

* * *

~**Chapter Four is now safe to read!**~

--Happy birthday, JKR and Harry! From reading a cool Kingdom Hearts fic (since I was too lazy to look it up), I know that Harry would be 28.

--The Mirror of Erised's inscription comes from Sorcerer's Stone, Chapter Twelve (my favorite for obvious reasons), page 207 (I hope. Feel free to correct.)

Kitsune-Arii: She's playing Proud Mode on Kingdom Hearts II. Any advice is welcomed.

~**What We're Listening To**: _New Divide_ by Linkin Park~

Farewell for now.


	5. The Thin Line of Sanity

~**Chapter Five is now being edited! ...Um, a little bit.**~

...I'm getting tired of saying that.

For those of you who have been bored with Harry's summer life—_now_ the Harry Potter-ness begins. You'll have to put up with summer a bit longer (read: a LOT longer), but Harry'll be back at school by Chapter Eleven (which I'm writing at this point in time).

I know that somewhere darthbethy, who has already read this chapter, is smiling because she sees Snape's name all over the beginning of it.

--The name of Dennis Flippens's dog, Callistan, is really a name I changed around from the surname of Luke from _The Battle of the Labyrinth_ from the Percy Jackson series, Castellan. That series is awesome without saying, as is (sighs dreamily) Luke—and I forgot to add that fact in during the last chapter.

--One of the names of the goblins that is coming up, Ragnak, is closely related to a similar Gringotts goblin, Ragnok, from _Harry Potter and the Years of Rebellion_. I'd read this story years before, so naming my own goblin so closely was merely an accident… Sorry, Full Pensieve. And please, don't leave us!

(I mentioned that last part now so I don't have to when it comes up in Chapter Six. Flip back here if you want the double disclaimer and apology to a much better writer. (UPDATE: And yet I've found something _else_ slightly similar I shall have to mention later. Goodness...))

--Page 100 is immediately in this chapter! Yay! There's writing all over it, you should see it...

--I don't own Harry Potter. (Or _Treasure Island_, which I unfortunately haven't read as many times as Hermione.)

* * *

Chapter Five: The Thin Line of Sanity

* * *

It was too late for Harry to even **_consider_** packing.

Nevertheless, he packed like a madman. So strong were both his sheer determination and desire to escape before his carefully-constructed plan was ruined that had he been given more notice at this development, the Order would have wondered upon arrival if a Harry Potter had ever lived there.

But alas--his sickness, draining him by the moment, sent him to his pillows out of sheer exhaustion moments after the letter was read. By the time he woke he'd missed lunch and dinner--_Fine with me_--and he felt more pathetic than ever. Packing had started then.

He wasn't even **_close_** to done. He hadn't slept or eaten in hours, and despite his meager possessions, being sick had been an annoyance when he wasn't being summoned and a crutch now that he _was_.

_I can't go to Grimmauld Place--not after--_

The thought hadn't helped. Nor had calling the insensitive Order members (minus a few) names under his breath.

THUMP, THUMP.

_Oh, wonderful_.

"Go away," Harry yelled at the door.

"You and I, Potter, have a score to settle."

The door was nudged open and Dudley squeezed halfway in.

"Remember little Mark Evans?"

"Dudley, get _out_ and don't come back unless you want me to turn arond and do things to you that'll make those dementors come running!"

THUMP.

_That was quick. Guess 'dementors' are now the "magic word"._ (PAGE 100, YAY!)

He went back to packing-in-haste. He thrust in robes, tossed in books, and cleared the desk (Hedwig screeched indignantly) with a sweep of his hand. Then he turned to the valuables under his bed, which he planned to carefully lift into his trunk.

He drew his wand. "_Extollo_."

Nothing.

"_Extollo!_"

A small _clink_-ing noise was heard, but nothing else happened. But Harry _did_ stagger, couching softly and roughly. Dizziness overtook him; everything blurred.

_I'd better be ready. They'll _never_ take me again--but I'll have to teach them that personally. I'm _sick_, not beaten._

_...Good thing I've been practicing_.

* * *

"_Abicio!_"

The spell threw the foursome off guard--literally. Which was exactly what Harry wanted.

He threw another. "_Relashio!_"

"POTTER! Have you gone _mad_?"

_Yes I have_, he decided inwardly, and ran down Privet Drive. When he had not managed to pack everything in time, he had hidden his belongings outside and ran, under cover of darkness, to head the Order off. The moment he'd seen the four shadows, his racing pulse had required him to act--no waiting around to see who they were, or he'd have already lost.

He pointed his wand at the ground they ran to him on, panting, "_Freno!_"

They seemed to slow down, trying to run after him yet not quite managing to. Harry heard three cries of confusion and one roar of rage.

He kept running, shooting spells behind him almost as an afterthought; then he heard a voice he very much despised.

"_Apprehendo!_"

Harry tripped, yelping as he felt invisible cords wrap around his torso; turning around as best he could, he glared into the infinitely dark eyes of Severus Snape.

_And it just got worse_.

"Potter," he drawled softly, tone belying his rage, "_have_ you gone mad?"

"You." Harry wanted to spit, but being constricted such forced all his attention into breathing. "Couldn't find any other way to keep _busy_?"

Snape's nostrils flared. "Not that it is any of your _business_--I have been _kept_ quite busy by things I'm sure your precious mentor has informed you of."

_And that, you git, tears it_.

The boy felt surges of suppressed hurt returning, followed by rage--all thoughts about possibly keeping calm with Snape flitted away. "Not that it's any of _your_ business, but in case you hadn't noticed, we don't exactly cuddle up and **_talk_** anymore! Now get out of my sight!"

He strained, but to no avail.

Snape continued his slow, unruffled walk toward Harry; his black cloak billowed out, causing the boy a thrill of apprehension. He noticed that Snape seemed to walk with a pronounced limp, along with breathing roughly--and he felt a cruel mixture of curiosity and satisfaction.

"By now I am sure you know how this works," the Potions Master sneered. "Some delegate comes, retrieves _you_, and dumps you off some place..._safe_. This time I must supervise. Surely your mind retained that little information. --Well, then again..."

Blazing fury now licked Harry's insides.

"I won't be going _anywhere_, and especially not with _you_!"

Snape's lip curled--but his eyes flickered curiously. "And what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

"It _means_," Harry snarled, "that I won't be skipping around to wherever the Order _lets_ me go! I'm cutting ties for a while. _Especially_ with **you**."

"Harry!"

He flinched; his emerald eyes took in Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks, and (to his horror) Mad-Eye Moody. If he was getting out of here, he had to do it _now_.

"_Finite!_" he cried; but the bonds only tightened, and he gasped in pain. Snape came closer, almost gliding...

"Given up yet, Potter?"

_Finite! Finite Incantatem, for crying out loud!_

Harry closed his eyes, despair filling him. _You're ruining my plans!_ he wanted to cry, to shout, to scream, but the only thing he could muster was a small, choked sound... then he felt a tingling begin from his insides. The bonds shivered...

And magic beyond comprehension exploded from him.

* * *

The wave of wandless magic that emitted from Harry swept over his pursuers. Snape, who was nearest, was knocked out by the brunt of the force; so was Tonks, who felt a finger of magic touch her before nothingness. Lupin and Mad-Eye managed to dodge--but by then Harry was flying down an alley, leaving them to follow only the sound of his coughing.

Lupin made to help Snape and Tonks, but Mad-Eye stopped him.

"Idiot! He'll take care of them. Right now _we have got_ to knock some sense into Potter!"

He limped away surprisingly quickly. Sulking, Lupin followed...

* * *

Harry laughed, leaping over a trash can. He was free, he had escaped, _and_ he'd knocked Snape out without lifting a finger! Now _that_ was an accomplishment to be proud of.

_After this, I'd better not make Advanced Potions. I can see his face now..._

Harry stopped suddenly. With a suppressed moan, he picked up a trash can lid and retched into the can itself.

_Ohhhhhh_._ I am decidedly _not_ feeling better. Yet my magic has never been so strong.._.

He breathed slowly in and out, holding onto the brick wall, trying to pull himself back together. He had taken care of Snape, who might have been his worst pursuer--but as far as he knew, Moody, Lupin and Tonks might still be on him this very moment.

_That's a pleasant thought_.

Harry started walking as questions exploded in his head: _Why was my magic so strong? How could I use it with my wand--WHERE'S MY WAND?!_

Suddenly frantic, he dug in his pockets and spun around, breath quickening as he tried to find and caress that polished wood--but eleven inches of holly and phoenix feather did not meet his desperate fingers. His wand was gone.

Harry groaned. _It must have been knocked away when Snape hit me with that Seize spell..._git_! And I can't go back to the Order's waiting arms to get it...no matter how much I'd like to... Damn! My wand..._.

More questions came when his anger and despair subsided:

_Why did they send _Snape_ to take me back _there_? ...And what in the world happened to him?_

He shook himself.

"If I don't run now, I'll ruin everything...!"

So he turned and ran down the rest of the alleyway, as fast as possible--and straight into the last person he'd ever wanted to see.

_No. Way._

"No!!"

Harry backed away. This wasn't possible, this _could not_ _be possible_...yet here, near Privet Drive, in front of him--

"Despite your obvious disbelief," Albus Dumbledore said sadly, "I am indeed here. ...To tell you the truth, I thought you'd be happier."

They gazed at each other in silence that screamed of mutual sadness. Harry saw Dumbledore's long silver hair and beard (looking surprisingly limp and wild, in almost false serenity), his light-blue eyes behind his half-moon spectacles, and his butter-yellow robes which seemed to illuminate the alley. Dumbledore saw Harry's dark, messy hair, his tortured green eyes, and his cousin's old Muggle clothes that didn't fit in the slightest.

After a few moments, seeing that Harry was obviously frozen in shock, Dumbledore spoke again. His voice was laced with a strange gentleness.

"Well?"

"Well, **_what_**?" Harry shot back automatically; shock had become defiance.

The Headmaster flinched. His face went pink as he explained in a murmur that remained gentle: "Harry... as you can see, neither of us necessarily _wants_ to make a move right now. You should know, then... I am not going to hurt you. I will _not_ cast any spell to even glance your skin, even if it accomplishes our goal... which it seems you do not want..."

Harry blinked; his green eyes widened as he took in Professor Dumbedore's sincere gaze. His headmaster's whole posture said that if Harry ran, he would not move to stop him.

Not unless--

"There's a condition in your eyes."

Dumbledore jumped, but he did not deny the accusation.

"I want to know where you're going. And I'd like...to nurse you back to your proper health, at least before you leave."

The boy balked at the mere suggestion--for more reasons than one. Though it _was_ slightly tempting...

"No. No, I can't that can't happen. I'm sorry, but my plan--I can't be near anyone I'm close to. I'll _hurt_ them, I'll--no. I can't."

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes dimmed, misted. "You are babbling, my boy."

"_I'm not going with you_. I _can't_, I--"

He could not finish.

The Headmaster stepped forward slowly, hesitantly--his hand reached out and found Harry's face. His long fingers stroked the boy's cheek--eventually the other hand reached up and recoiled at how warm his forehead was.

Harry closed his eyes without thinking, accepting the attention...

"Oh, Harry, you're burning up. I can't let you leave like this...!"

The boy snapped to the present, moved farther away--but he could not quite manage to escape those fingers. "You _will_, or--!"

"Or what, little one?" Harry's skin tingled at the affectionate nickname (and at his mentor's overall strange behavior), but Dumbledore was already focused intently on the boy's empty fingers. "I thought that you hated me," he continued, not at all able to disguise the trace of hurt evident in his voice. "Why, then, do you not draw your wand against me?"

Harry's face flushed; almost instinctively he looked down at his pockets once more, but his wand did not blessedly materialize. He shrugged.

"Where is your wand?"

"Gone."

"_Gone?_"

_Yes, Professor, gone. Blame it on your precious Snape. If he hadn't interfered--_

Dumbledore suddenly looked very sad.

"Harry, I promised not to harm you with any spell, and I will keep to that promise. But I will _not_ let you endanger yourself by abandoning all of your protections. And _especially_ not as sick as you are! I'm very sorry, but...!"

Harry stepped back again. His heart started to race. "You don't mean--"

The Headmaster's face fell; he removed his fingers from Harry's face, sighing in a very final sort of way. The way his eyes further dimmed brought a sort of panic into Harry's body.

"You wouldn't--you--"

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered softly, eyes brimming with tears the boy could not fully understand, "I am so sorry for this."

_He said that he wouldn't hurt me! He _promised_, he_--

Tingling began within the boy again; he was reminded of all the times he had once used magic, unknowingly, to protect himself. Could he do so again, without getting in trouble...?

Professor Dumbledore pulled his wand out slowly, eyes not twinkling. Quietly (rather in a way one would hypnotize someone) he whispered:

"_Adquiesco_."

Dark spots flickered before Harry's eyes; he staggered, eyes already drooping, and surrendered himself to the pull of sleep--which, for the first time since this summer had begun, was dreamless.

* * *

_A cool hand on his forehead. Dampness and soothing words._

"Harry. _Harry_...?"

_Who is that...? I've never heard that voice._

"Come on now, dear. Wake up."

_Mmmnh...don't want to..._

"Easy, Harry... **there**! There you are."

Harry felt himself stir, struggled against the longing to stay asleep and peaceful. He couldn't see--vision swam mockingly before him, just out of reach--and it wa so hot, so very _hot_...

He moaned; hands touched his forehead again, as if on cue.

"Still burning up. --Oh, _where_ is Nymphadora?"

_Tonks!_

Harry would have leapt up then, but that burning fire was everywhere and he _certainly_ didn't want to be burned...though it felt as if he already _had_ been...

_Is that why I blacked out?_ Pause. ...Did_ I black out?_

He vaguely remembered losing his wand with an inward groan. _Great._

Even with his eyes open, blinking rapidly, not much registered. It took him mere seconds to discern a possible reason:

_Oh, no! My glasses! Don't tell me I lost _those _too..._

"...Oh, looking for these? I should have guessed that you might be blind as a bat without them."

Harry flinched at first as he felt the cold metal slide over his nose, but once his glasses had been established in their rightful place he felt that all was well again. But then he looked around.

_--Okay, scratch that. It's official: all is ruined._

He was in a dark room, with many portraits in one corner and a flickering fireplace in another. Dusty silver cups and plates further atrophied in still another, farther corner; and upon closer inspection, Harry saw a portrait of a young woman who looked remarkably like the old, screaming, bad-tempered one permanently stuck downstairs.

"Feeling all right?"

"Obviously not," Harry snapped back; then his green eyes landed on the speaker.

The woman was indeed a stranger to him; she was tall, with long, curly black hair that fell to below her shoulders; her eyes were a light hazel, and rather intimidating. Her robes were dark blue, a shadow on her frighteningly pale skin. She was not gaunt, as Sirius was, but her appearance was easily (and painfully) recognizable for Harry.

She smiled ruefully. "I'm going to say that's the delirium talking..."

"Afraid I'll hurt your feelings?" Being here was making him furious, fierce, and he felt meaner than he ever had before.

"You've already taken care of that," she replied lightly, successfully throwing him off balance. "Listen--it's Harry, right? Yes? Well, I know you're a hyper, hormonal adolescent with an unwanted prophecy, a famous reputation and all that other nonsense, and I know that your godfather has just died--but can you _try_ to be a little more civil? He _was_ my cousin as well, you know."

Harry blushed; he spent a few moments examining his socks under the covers, wondering how in the world he'd managed to be so much like Draco Malfoy: rude and pompous as hell.

"I'm...sorry."

"It's fine. I understand completely."

The woman's smile encouraged him. "Er...who are you, exactly?"

"Sirius didn't show you the family tree? I was sure he told me he did..."

It came to Harry then as he remembered, with a painful flinch, looking over the tree with Sirius and his friends.

_"'You and Tonks are related?'"_

_"'Oh yeah, her mother, Andromeda, was my favorite cousin...'"_

"You're _Andromeda Tonks_--Tonks's mother!"

"Right in one." Andromeda smiled in a way he recognized--Ron's mother had given him that same look hundreds of times. "Yes, Sirius told me you'd met my darling daughter Nymphadora."

"Yeah, she's pretty cool..."

Andromeda stood and stretched, _aaah_ing as she did--when she closed her eyes and smiled in a strange way, Harry saw not only the effects of life in Azkaban from her cousin (though for all he knew _she'd_ never been) but the half-insanity and pride from her sister, Bellatrix Lestrange. And though thoughts of the real Bellatrix filled him only with hatred and a desire for revenge, thoughts of that woman in this one filled him only with a strange fear.

"Something wrong?"

He jumped; she was watching him. "Huh? ...Erm, nothing.

"So, er, Mrs. Tonks--why are you here? I mean--?"

She sat down across from the bed he was on, stretching out on a couch lying idle there--and then she sneezed, waving away dust.

"Bless you."

"Thank you, dear. --Well, for several reasons: first, my most dear cousin, Sirius, was killed by my demented older sister Bellatrix--"

Harry flinched again, noting that Andromeda did not mince words--

"--and Sirius always said that if he died I had better hightail it back to Grimmauld and 'hold down the fort'. Of course, we were still kids when he said it, but I knew he was having a _rare_ serious moment--and I'd have been barmy to cross my fingers. So here I am.

"Second: the will's getting ready to be read. That means that my _dear_ sisters are required, by goblin law, to be at the reading--so I, too, have to go so as to prevent Gringotts from getting all bloody. Middle children like myself seem to be obliged to keep the peace."

Harry snorted. However, he believed every word she said and liked her direct manner more and more as she talked to him; but at the same time a strong wave of jealousy washed over him. Andromeda spoke assuredly, of _course_, because she had _known_ Sirius, had truly been family to him--he had even told her about _him_, Harry, yet not the other way round! One of the main reasons that Harry had wanted so badly to live with Sirius was because he wanted to _know_ him like Andromeda had, to be able to love him for perfections and faults and mannerisms, and not just because he was a strong link to Harry's past and the future he could have had.

Losing him so soon (and after taking all of those '_precautions_'!) had hurt for some of those same reasons: now one of the last links to his parents was gone, and he had never gotten the chance to know _Sirius_. 'Grief' was an understatement.

He coughed softly. Immediately Andromeda rose from her comfortable sprawl and pushed him down into the pillow--he moaned in protest, but she shook a finger at him.

"I wasn't kidding earlier--you're delirious, and running a serious fever. I'm glad you finally woke--exhaustion must have kept you asleep after that spell wore off..."

_What?_

"...which brings me to my third and last answer to your question. I've been taking care of you while you were sick. ...Actually, that's the _main_ reason I'm here." She laughed. "Congratulations, you got the drawn-out explanation."

Harry was nonplussed, to say the least. "Taking care of me?"

"Yeah, you know," Andromeda teased him. She knew from inquiry that his childhood years left him now rather ignorant to what good parents were like; so little things like she taking care of the young, spirited Nymphadora when _she'd_ been sick would go straight over his head. "When you're sick, the responsible and caring adult hovers over you, and won't go away until they've buried you in cover, forced medicine down your throat, catered to your every call, fed you enough for an army, and made sure you're asleep more than you're awake. _Then_, after all of that, you get well. --Personally, _I_ think you're still in the 'sleeping' stage."

He stared at her. When he wouldn't stop, she laughed and embraced him, ignoring his yelp and immediate flinch. "And the hugs," she added through giggles. "Don't forget the frequent hugs."

_She's as crazy as Lilian Evans._

"Mrs. Tonks--"

"Call me Andromeda, dear."

"I--okay, Andromeda? You didn't _have_ to come take care of me."

She smiled in a way that reminded him _again_ of Mrs. Weasley--were all mothers _so_ alike? He couldn't wait to meet Hermione's mother.

"Well, I wouldn't have gotten the pleasure of meeting you at all, but I ran into Professor Dumbledore, dear man, and he asked if I might nurse you back to health for him. The way he looked at you--I would never have refused!"

_Dumbledore? ...Oh, yeah--the _spell_! That's how I got here...?_

"Professor Dumbledore...? So, then..."

Anger furrowed his brow, set up a storm within him. "Why didn't _he_ just take care of me? Was he '_too busy_' or something, as usual?"

Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, then stopped abruptly. Her smile turned sat with the realization that Harry was very badly hurt; and with the thought that perhaps the boy was not so much a stranger to love (or the absence of) as she had guessed.

"Oh, Harry, dear... he _wanted_ to, believe me, but lately there have been so many demands on his time! He feared you would grow worse under his eye. But he has been here _every_ day, checking in on you every couple of hours--I promise he has."

Harry looked away, his cheeks hot from anger and fever. "Whatever."

"He was here a few hours ago. I can call him back--"

"Don't bother."

"But--"

"Please, Andromeda."

She gave up, but reluctantly. Harry, meanwhile, had caught on to a word he hadn't noticed earlier.

"Wait--what did you mean by 'days'? --How long have I been out?"

"Four days," Andromeda replied promptly.

"_Four days_?"

"I was impressed, too. Like I said before, exhaustion must have kept you asleep after _Adqueisco_ wore off--I know Albus's spells are powerful, but not _that_ powerful! ...I don't think."

This wasn't really reassuring.

Harry directed his gaze to the ceiling--just as dark and dank as the rest of the room, he noted. "Erm. So..."

"So?"

"You're not doing _all_ that stuff, are you? I'm not that sick. Really."

_Stupid boy._ "I did _all that stuff_ while you slept."

Harry blushed. She smiled wryly, taking one of his hands between her own, stroking the fingers. He didn't pull back, and her eyes sparkled.

"Harry--_believe_ me, Nymphadora has made me no stranger to children. The adolescent years in particular drove me _nuts_!"

He laughed, and she felt suddenly heartened.

"Hey!"

"Oh dear," Andromeda sighed, all good feelings gone, "we have company."

"Like the adolescent years weren't hard on _me_, too!"

Tonks burst into the room, wearing deep-magenta robes and an expression of deepest insult. today she had dark brown curls that framed her face and eyes almost as green as Harry's.

"Nymphadora, _dear_," Andromeda began slowly, rolling her eyes Harry's way, "of _course_ the adolescent years weren't hard on _you_--_you're_ the adolescent in question! _And_ a Metamorphmagus to boot. I was wronged."

"Mother, _do not_ call me Nymphadora! And _you_ were the one who didn't understand _me_, Metamorphmagus or not."

"It was the other way 'round!"

"It most certainly was _not_!"

Harry laughed again. He could tell their arguments were probably frequent, long, and completely innocent--and already he felt a little better, not so warm and uncomfortable.

"So," he smirked in Tonks's direction, "I thought for sure I wouldn't be allowed any _excitable_ visitors..."

"Ha ha," Tonks shot back, with a smirk of her own. "You know perfectly well that I've been taking care of you right along with Mum here--I heard her telling you."

"Nymphadora," Tonks's mother scolded, "were you listening at doors again?!"

"I might have been. And please, _do not call me that_! I prefer _Tonks_."

"Nonsense! Tonks is our _sur_name--and 'Nymphadora', as I've said repeatedly, is a fine name--just as 'Andromeda' is."

"Sure it is, if you're a **_fairy_**!"

Andromeda sniffed. "Nymphadora Eileen Tonks! Your problem is that you have not yet learned to wear your name with pride and grace."

_This might go on all night._

"Hmmph." Tonks snorted, then put on a smile and turned back to Harry. "Actually, what I came to tell _you_ was that you really _do_ have a potential visitor."

Harry cocked his head. "I do?"

"Yup."

"Is it Remus?" He rather hoped it was. Though his horrible dream from over a week ago still rattled him, he wished to see Remus for himself and find out if his dreams were reality.

"Afraid not. Erm...no, not him. Even better."

Harry pondered for a moment, but no one came immediately to mind. "I...give up."

"If you say so..."

Tonks's smile was sly as she strode over to the door, opened it, poked her dark curls out, and called, "You were right; he couldn't guess!"

A colorful blur rushed into the room; next thing Harry knew, they had leapt onto him and were hugging him with all their might, with a few kisses-to-the-forehead thrown in.

"_Harry!_"

Muffled as he was, the bright voice still registered recognition in his mind.

"Hermione...!"

She hugged him tighter, and he missed a breath. Gasping, he barely managed to breathe, "Her--mione--let--go--"

"Oh, sorry!" And she let go, pulling back to what he considered a safe distance--but when Harry saw here, he was sure she was still hugging him breathless.

Hermione was _different_.

Hermione Granger, library-lover, most intelligent girl in Hogwarts by far was..._pretty_?

Her hair, usually bushy, had been combed and pressed out, so that it was straight with little curls at the end that someone else would have called 'dainty'--Harry himself was reminded instantly of the Yule Ball two years ago--and her gray eyes sparkled now when she smiled. The color came from her Muggle clothing, which seemed quite out of place in this room.

_Well, in the whole _house_. --Stop it, Harry, or else they'll **really** think you're sick. _Say_ something to her!_

_...Nope, I've got nothing._

"Hermione," he finally managed. "You look--er--great..."

Hermione blushed and beamed at once. "Thanks." Then her expression shifted, and Harry saw the Hermione who'd sent him six letters in two weeks. "How are you feeling?"

He felt as though he were being pressed down by some heavy stone; grief and fever came back all at once. "I'm...okay."

She seemed to be scrutinizing him, but after a few moments she gave in and sat next to him. "I'm glad you're holding up. Imagine my surprise when my first glimpse of you was when you were delirious! And _that_ was only two days ago, Andromeda wouldn't even let me _see_ you when you first came--"

"Guilty as charged," Andromeda muttered dryly.

Harry leaned back into his pillows (Tonks had rushed out and back in with more, then pushed them up) just listening to her talk. Even though a part of him was still furious wiith the foiling of his plan on top of everything else, he had to admit that it was comforting seeing her again, seeing that she at least had not changed.

_Same old Hermione, indeed. And speaking of--_

"How's Ron?"

Hermione shrugged, trying to feign nonchalance. It didn't work so well. "Okay, I guess. He's pretty mad about not being able to come, but other than that he sounds pretty cheerful."

_Cheerful?_ Harry thought, grinning inwardly, but he brushed it aside, saying, "Probably 'cause he knows Fred or George or Ginny'll bail him out."

"Hmmm?" Hermione raised her head, then nodded almost blankly. "Oh, yes. Probably."

"Oh, _please_," Tonks snorted; Harry and Hermione jumped, as if they'd forgotten she was there. "You two are acting like you aren't even _friends_! Is it because I'm here? --Nah, not possible... I know! It's _Mum_, isn't it! Mum could drive the Weird Sisters nutters."

"_Excuse_ you, Nymphadora--"

The younger duo just grinned at each other.

* * *

For the next few days, Harry was very nearly smothered by the attentions of his best friend and the Tonks women--he was poked, pushed, examined, fed and nearly _clothed_. He could hardly breathe without their notice, and in the beginning he was forbidden to get out of bed and move around.

"Absolutely not," Andromeda had insisted firmly. "I forbid it. You are too weak to exhaust yourself banging through this house..."

"But I'll waste away in this bed," Harry had whined; but there was no budging Andromeda Tonks _or_ her daughter.

Fortunately he was still allowed to bathe on his own those three days--but whenever he needed the bathroom Tonks had to go _with_ him, and stand outside to "make sure he was safe". It was--there was no other word--_humiliating_. Hearing Tonks's giggles over the sound of the toilet flushing was worse than any sickness in the world.

"All right in there, Harry?" she'd always ask, stifling more giggles.

"Pretty much, _Nymphadora_," he'd always mutter, and smile in private satisfaction as she turned pink and herded him back to his room ("Worse than _Mum_, you are"), all laughter gone.

Despite his growing complaints, he actually enjoyed the small company, and felt better with every draught he downed and bit of food eaten (it turned out that Andromeda had been an excellent Potions student, so Harry didn't have to worry about slipping any of Severus Snape's masterpieces down his throat).

Hermione was by far his favorite companion. When she stayed with him, she'd often bring some textbook or novel to read to him; and it was never anything boring. One day it was _Advanced Defense: How to REALLY Protect Yourselves_ by Emilia Sparks; the next it was _Treasure Island_ by Robert Louis Stevenson (Hermione's fourth time reading it). And if she didn't bring a book, she might just sit and talk to him about little things, like how Hagrid was doing, or if they'd see Ron before summer was out, or even how stable clumsy Tonks was acting lately.

"I heard that," Tonks half-snapped, pacing outside the room. She still had the brown hair and green eyes for whatever reason--if Harry hadn't known better, he'd have said she was Hermione's older sister in both appearance and current attitude.

But everyone has their low days, and with Harry his were lower than most. Hermione sensed this on the third day, and so merely sat by him, taking one of his hands in one of hers; she stayed silent as he thought dark thoughts about the ashes of his fallen plan and Sirius's departure and betrayal from every adult he had trusted except the one that was now gone. While he contemplated how _unfair_ life was (particularly his) and how much he _hated_ "kill or be killed" prophecies, she squeezed his hand gently and cooled his fuming thoughts, his rope in the darkness.

Every one of his feverish nights had a nightmare attached to it; and every night that mysterious stranger wrapped Harry in his arms and soothed him until he fell back asleep. The rest of his night was always dreamless--but when Harry truly woke, his nighttime companion was always gone. It rather depressed him.

When he told Hermione about it (telling Ron sounded odd to him) she suggested he try and identify the person through repeated habits.

"Huh?"

"I mean," Hermione explained patiently, "to try and take note of how they act around you--like maybe they run their fingers through your hair a lot, or sigh or something--and then match it to someone close. I mean, it's only logical that it's someone you know..."

It actually made a lot of sense (not that he'd ever admit that to her), and when he'd tried it he noticed that his companion often stroked his shoulder or hugged him close. Yet he found no match in anyone around him while sick. Then again, even if he _hadn't_ been sick he wouldn't have seen very many people. From Hermione's reports, she had been there about a week and a half and seen only three Order members--and no meetings.

On the evening of the third day, when Hermione had turned in early and Tonks had run off to another guest room for a few hours' sleep, Harry heard Andromeda conversing quietly with someone else down the hall.

"He misses you. He misses you _so_ much."

"I know, but.... After last year, I thought... I thought it better to give him some space for a while. To think."

"_Space to think_ is the worst thing you could have given Harry right now. He is a teenage boy like any other, but with so many horrible things happening around him that he's started to think no one **_cares_** about him--and that is the _worst_ delusion you could let Harry put himself under!"

Silence. Harry found himself resenting the way Andromeda was talking about him, _and_ whom she was doing so with.

"Andromeda. Look. _You_ are a successful mother--you _know_ these things--but I do not. I wake up nights wishing I did. Why won't you _help_ me, instead of fighting me as Molly and Remus do? Impart some of your knowledge into me. _Please_."

Harry's eyebrows rose. He heard Andromeda sigh.

"Of course, Albus. But if I do--and you know I will--you must _promise_ to stay around. There'll be no more of this 'hiding from Harry'."

"I'm not hiding from him--" The voice started, then broke off. "I promise."

"Good. ...Do you want to see him?"

"I'd like that. But only if he wants to see me."

Harry closed his eyes, leaning against the pillow he had straightened in order to listen properly. Dread at what was next built in him.

_Knock, knock_.

"Harry? Professor Dumbledore wants to see you. Is that okay?"

_It is very _not_ okay_. He thought of all the things he'd rather be doing: screaming into his pillows, sleeping, talking to Hermione, sending letters to Ron. Even finding some way to grieve for Sirius without killing himself (abandoning food had also been foiled by his arrival here) would be more entertaining.

Or would it?

"Yeah, it's fine."

The door opened, and moonlight from the room's single window illuminated the figure of Albus Dumbledore walking in. He shut the door, then offered a weak smile to Harry.

"Hello, Harry."

"Hi, Professor," the boy replied; he smiled back at Dumbledore, almost hating to see him look so lost, and beckoned him over. The Headmaster's entire frame relaxed as he hastened to Harry's side and sat next to him.

Harry looked him over, relaxing himself without quite knowing why. There was Dumbledore's long silver hair and beard, his half-moon spectacles, his penetrating blue eyes. There were his maroon robes, his dark traveling cloak, his buckled boots.... It was rather comforting to see that, other than that infuriating sad look on his face, Dumbledore was safe, was calm, was unchanged.

"How are you, little one?"

_'Little one' again._ Harry stretched his hand out over the covers, and felt his nerves jump as Dumbledore stretched out his own long fingers and stroked his.

"I'm okay..."

Dumbledore's smile was wistful, tremulous. "That is good to know."

A pause. Neither seemed to know what to do with themselves; so Dumbledore let his fingers move gently up Harry's arm to his shoulder, rubbing in circles, and Harry giggled at how much it tickled, surprising them both. The older one's smile widened.

"Feeling better?"

"A little, day by day."

The headmaster reached into his robes, gaining a searching, drawn-inward look. This look soon changed to triumph as he pulled out two small vials; one was filled with an amber liquid, while the other was a familiar purple.

"I brought a Soothing Draught in case you might want it," he explained in response to Harry's inquiring look. "It calms one's mind and senses. And I made it, so you don't have to worry about forcing down anything from Severus."

Harry laughed suddenly--Dumbledore had read his mind, he _must_ have.

"I assure you," said mentor soothed, "I read only your expression." He chuckled, straightening Harry's glasses with a stray hand.

"The other is a Sleeping Potion, right?"

"My clever boy," Dumbledore praised, blue eyes shining. "I suppose you remember the one Madam Pomfrey gave you in your fourth year?"

"Yes." He gently took the Soothing Draught and laid it on the desk near the window. "Thank you. --Um...I'm not sure if I'm ready for any more Sleeping Potions. You could use that _adquiesco_ spell again..."

Professor Dumbledore suddenly blushed. His face seemed to fall as he stared solemnly at Harry.

"Harry...I'm so sorry. I know--you know--_we_ both know that I brought you to Sirius's house against your will--"

"Too right you did," Harry muttered, feeling a touch of bitterness.

The blush deepened. "I just didn't want you to go off and be worse than ever--I promise, it was _only_ a last resort. You saw that I did not want to...!"

He had to think for only a few moments. "It's okay, I forgive you!" When the old man's sad expression didn't waver he added, "_Really_!"

"I...all right. Are you sure you don't want the potion right now?"

Harry nodded, conscious of the headmaster's hand still on ihs shoulder. "I won't need it tonight."

_But it _would_ be nice if_--

He cut that train of thought off.

Dumbledore's bright blue eyes seemed to once again x-ray Harry's green ones, as if he were about to hazard an accurate guess at Harry's thoughts. "What are you thinking about, Harry?"

"Huh? Oh--nothing."

The headmaster nodded, almost to himself. "Ah, another regret of mine.... Harry, one thing I should have taught you sooner: when face-to-face with a Legilimens, you are safest when you can guard your thoughts."

_Which I can't. Damn._

However, Dumbledore made no move to start poking about in his mind, as Snape had (and certainly would have done). Instead he pressed his fingers together, waiting for a response.

"I--it--"

"Harry?"

He blurted it out: "It would be nice if you stayed."

Dumbledore froze. Eyes wide, he searched Harry's face, visibly trembling as though someone had slapped him. When it was clear that the boy was not joking, a smile crept its way onto his face--and his eyes seemed to brighten.

Gently he stretched out his hand again, grazing Harry's cheek, moving down to cradle his chin--he drew Harry to him with the other hand, retrieving one of the boy's pillows for more comfort. Harry pressed into both pillow and human hold, closing his eyes.

Finally, Dumbledore choked out the right answer. "Of course, little one."

* * *

As could be expected, Harry woke to find the curtains closed and himself alone. But just as he was about to turn from blissful comfort to despair, he happened to roll over in the large bed and hear a crackling sound.

_Huh?_

He pulled what turned out to be parchment from underneath him--a note from Professor Dumbledore.

_Harry,_

_I'm sorry I had to leave you. I assure you, I had no intention of doing so--lately the more time I try to spend with you, the more the public seems to require my attention. On a different note--I do hope you slept well._

_And onto another note--the reading of Sirius's will is in three days, on Sunday the twenty-first. It is not required that you attend, but I feel certain that you will anyway. Might I, with your permission, accompany you to Gringotts on that day?_

_And a last note--please, feel free to talk to me, to contact me, anything, whenever you wish._

_I hope to see you again soon._

**_Albus Dumbledore_**

_Nice signature_, he thought dryly, and then he laughed aloud, half-bitterly. He was _such_ a baby.

It wasn't like he _didn't_ want Dumbledore to come to the reading--it would definitely keep him from hexing any Malfoys into tiny fragments of people. It was just that...

_What is wrong with me?_

_Knock, knock, knock._ "Harry? May we come in?"

"Okay." Hastily Harry hid the note under his pillow; for whatever reason, and despite his conflicting emotions over the subject as a whole, he wanted no one else to see it.

Andromeda and Hermione entered and crossed the room; Hermione sat on the bed and said "Good morning" in a manner so truly cheerful that Harry suspected something had developed while he'd slept; Andromeda reached out one cool, short-fingered hand and felt his forehead.

"Still a little warm...but I think your fever will break soon, with a bit of exercise."

Harry leaped upright, brimming with excitement and disbelief. "Did you say 'exercise'?"

Andromeda laughed, a bell-like sound. "You make it sound like it's some luxury I've denied you!"

Hermione smiled at Harry behind her back. Andromeda, noticing the boy's return grin, turned her face into a pouting expression.

"Hey, hey! I am _deciding_ to let you out of bed for a bit so you won't go into a relapse out of sheer boredom. And luckily it seems that Miss Granger has somewhere she's just dying to take you."

Now it was Hermione who seemed to pout.

Harry pushed the covers off and got to his feet, ignoring his slightly shaking legs. "Gladly. Please. Anything to get out of bed!"

He took Hermione's hand, and she led him eagerly downstairs, until they were alone in the empty living room. An Order member Harry didn't know looked them over as he passed by, smiled and disappeared into the fireplace.

"Harry!" Hermione breathed. "Last night when you were with Professor Dumbledore, I was having trouble sleeping; so I wandered around down here, just pushing and prodding on things. And then..."

She broke off, leading him to a wall with an empty portrait on it. She pressed both their nearest hands to it--and Harry suddenly wished, fervently, that Ron was here with them, arguing with Hermione as usual.

"...I leaned into the wall..."

The wall seemed to grunt as it shuffled back, revealing a staircase leading into darkness. Harry's emerald eyes widened in amazement.

They went down the stairs as Hermione narrated to Harry, explaining how scared and excited she'd been at the same time as she wound around the stairs, down the lantern-lit hall, and into a door with an iron ring. She pulled him on, gray eyes shining....

And Harry looked up into the biggest library he'd ever seen in a house--or _under_ one, in this case.

Books were stacked everywhere--on and off shelves, around tables, stools and the floor. Books of all shapes and sizes and colors filled the middle-sized room, winking at the gaping pair at the door; a few comfortable red chairs stood in the center of the library, a hole in only one, with small fluffs of cotton spilling to the carpeted floor as the sole sign that this library had ever been loved.

Harry was no bookworm or eager scholar (he leaned more toward Ron's view of such things), but he felt awe fill him as he gazed around the tiny book haven.

"Oh, _Harry_!" Hermione finally exclaimed, brimming with joy. She was so excited about her discovery that she was shaking; he held onto her arm so that she wouldn't fall over. "Isn't it--I mean--isn't it just the most wonderful thing you've ever seen? Even my library at _home_ isn't this grand! And I found a few things _you_ might like especially, Harry...oh it's all just so great...!"

She disappeared behind a nearby bookshelf. Harry sat down in the ragged chair, opening a book near his foot: _The Dark Arts: What We're Up Against_.

Hermione returned, holding only two books in her arms. He was surprised that neither were Defense Against the Dark Arts books, as she knew he loved those.

"I found these," she said softly, laying them in his lap as you would a puppy. "Sirius's diary. And a photo albm that belonged to your mum... I found pictures loose inside."

Harry shook them out, eyes roving hungrily over the moving images--James Potter chasing Remus Lupin with a broom, Sirius roaring with laughter as Lily Evans tripped over James's kneeling form--even some pictures of Peter Pettigrew, a.k.a. Wormtail, smiling that shy smile of his, always in the background. (Harry decided not to burn those.)

"Do you like them, Harry?" Hermione was gazing at his expression, trying to read him like she read her books. "Is it...all wonderful?"

Harry looked up at his friend, green eyes into gray, and smiled like no one had seen him smile since Sirius died. He held one hand out, as if were rubbing the dust off the bookshelves--_as I soon will_.

"It's great, Hermione," he said, in a voice soft as silence.

* * *

UPDATE: AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! I FORGOT SPELL DEFINITIONS!!

(Note: I got these spells from three different Internet sites, so I hope dearly that they are right. Feel free to tell me if they aren't.)

_Extollo_--Means "to lift".

_Abicio_--Means "to throw down or away"--in this case, away.

_Apprehendo_--Means, basically, "to catch, seize".

_Adquiesco_--Means "to rest, repose".

* * *

~**Chapter Five is now edited!**~

There is a very important person mentioned only slightly in this chapter. They are a centrifugal (or however that's spelled and meant) force in the story itself, and represent one of the themes I can't seem to get out of my stories--fanfiction or regular. If you can find the name, you'll get a review reply that looks like this:

COOOOKIEEEE!!!!

If it doesn't look exactly like that, sue.

You will not see Chapter Six for about 1,000 Solons. If you don't know what those are, shame on you--you know naught of Chaotic.

At the moment, I'm writing my most anticipated scene of all time--the train ride. Oh yeah. Cheer me on, guys...

The lines from Harry and Sirius that are italicized are from Order of the Phoenix--I apologize for not knowing the page number.

Ooooooh, best news! I am starting a Deleted/Alternate Scenes story that will branch from the Lost Flash! I have three written already and the title complete.

Speaking of, that one is called _Thoughts from Death--or, Sirius's Will_, and Draco Malfoy shows up briefly.

See you.


	6. Thoughts from Death, or Sirius's Will

(laughs) And I'll bet you all thought I'd _never_ be coming back...

I haven't seen you all since December. (November, actually...) Miss me? I missed you. See, I'm not heartless...!

This is, at the moment, the longest chapter I have ever written in my lifetime. At fifty-one pages total, I promise you will not feel deprived.

That Bellatrix line that comes later is from _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_. (I seem to reference that book quite a lot.) The spell "Sirius" uses is from _Half-Blood Prince_, because the spells in that book were awesome. And Harry's remembering how he threw mud at Draco is from _Prisoner of Azkaban_. I loved that line.

I don't own Harry Potter, and will probably never have a chance of doing so.

* * *

Chapter Six: Thoughts from Death—or, Sirius's Will

* * *

The dawning of the nineteenth of July brought back a familiar presence to Harry's mind; but because he was still getting over a fever, he did not catch the intruder as quickly as he had before. Additionally, he'd had to fight off another attack from Voldemort through his sickness--so he was very much on guard.

**_Harry._**

Harry rolled over; his outstretched hand brushed his glasses on the desk and his wand, newly returned by Andromeda Tonks through Remus Lupin.

**_Har-ry. Hello...?_**

_Mmmmm....._

_**Harry, **wake up_**.**

His mind stirred before his body did; his first thought was of how cramped he felt all of a sudden in this room. _Argh, I hate it in here... it feels so depressing. Then again, that may be my own fault...._

**_Harry!_**

_I remember asking Andromeda if this was Sirius's room...she said 'no'...but it feels as sad as he always seemed here. I'll have to ask again...._

**_HARRY!_**

Harry yelped, jumping up sharply and rubbing his forehead. His scar burned out of nowhere, as a reminder of the recent...

_Ouch!!_

**_Gotten your attention now, have I?_**

_Rivers!_

**_Took you long enough. That _**has**_ to be your slowest reaction time. --My god, were you taking a bath or something?_**

Harry chose not to answer that.

_What are you doing here?_

**_You said I could talk to you, remember?_**

_Rivers...you said you wouldn't be checking in on me as often as you thought. It's only been...what, eleven days?_

**_I tried to reach you sooner. --So, erm...have you heard from Voldemort lately?_**

Harry laid back down, closed his green eyes tightly. _Last night._

**_What was he like?_**

_Don't you already know?_ Harry thought to himself, but instead he voiced to the other: _Same as usual. Evil, insane, bent on my death... he was a little harder to feel, as though he were farther away, and he seemed more agitated than ever, but otherwise...._ He wished he could shrug through mysterious mental connections.

**_Huh._**

_...Um, what do you want to talk about?_

_**That's easy. You**_.

* * *

"Harry?"

"Geroff--_geroff_," he moaned, swatting away that pesky voice. He wanted to sink back into darkness, nestled comfortably under the covers. Wasn't one disturbing of his sleep enough for one day?

"Harry--the _Daily Prophet_'s printed more lies about you!"

"_What?!_"

He leaped out of bed, face suddenly flushed; his eyes fell on Hermione, who was both wide awake and fully dressed--and had a sudden, teasing look about her.

"What're those gits saying about me _now_? Didn't they see--Voldemort--barely a month ago--"

Hermione giggled, interrupting him. "Just kidding."

"Wha--" His face went redder, and for a different reason--shock and anger.

"You tricked me!"

"You're up now, aren't you?"

"_Hermione!_"

"Shower time, Harry. Don't make me call Tonks."

That did it. He yanked his glasses on, spun out of bed, grabbed the towel Hermione handed him and sped out the door and down the hall.

* * *

The shower was delightful--an abundance of warm water (not at all like number four, Privet Drive) raining through his untidy hair and across his shoulder blades and down his back and chest and scar and dripping onto his toes...

_Mmmm._ It felt wonderful, and so it was almost a disappointment for Harry to have to get out, and dry himself off, and wrap the towel firmly around his waist. He would take another shower in the evening, just because...

He opened the door, dazedly, then let out a yell.

"Eeeeeeeeeek!!!"

The squeal came from Hermione, standing on the other side of the bathroom door.

"H-H-Hermione!"

"Harry! I-I thought you were done!"

"Didn't you see steam coming from under the door?"

"I was downstairs! I didn't know you had no clothes--I mean, you weren't clothed--I mean--!"

They were both blushing, rambling meaninglessly in half-excuse, half-argument, until Tonks, awoken by cries and fearing the worst, showed up--and started to laugh.

"Break it up! Hermione, go on in, it's obviously vacant--and Harry, get over it. It was an innocent mistake--and besides..."

She traced his bare shoulder with one long finger, deepening the blush on the boy's already-flaming face.

"...it was a bit of a treat for us girls!"

_Merlin, let me die. Let me die now._

Hermione, still blushing as well, muttered something like "Meet you downstairs later" and hastily shut the bathroom door; Tonks, still laughing, ventured downstairs herself.

Harry, meanwhile, fled to his room--back to his hated, depressing-yet-safe sanctuary, ready with clothes.

* * *

He couldn't get it out of his head.

_I don't believe it. Tonks flirted with me. --To stop me yelling, sure, but still...!_

Harry had forgotten that he was a teenager--with all that had gone on, why should he have remembered? The only thing that had changed when he hit adolescence (or _it_ hit _him_, for he was certainly unaware of it still) was the threat called Voldemort--and it had merely strengthened.

He discovered a still-slightly-blushing Hermione downstairs as promised, who greeted him and gestured to the kitchen nearby (she'd already eaten).

"Are you--?"

"I'm not hungry." On the contrary; he felt suddenly sick again at the thought.

"But--!"

"No."

She sighed. "Okay, then...um...let's go to the library. There's something else I want you to see there."

"Okay."

"Be careful down there," Tonks called after their retreating backs.

_So she _knows_ about it...figures._

"Harry," Hermione began slowly, "you know I'm concerned about you not eating well."

_Or, rather, Andromeda is concerned _for_ her_. "...I don't want to talk about this."

"You never _do_!"

He glared at her. She glared back, not backing down as she would have before.

"Harry. We've been friends for nearly six years. _Six years_! Can't you talk to me about things? --Oh, sure, we talk about the little things--how much Professor Snape hates you, and your fight with Ron, and your relationship with Cho..."

"That was different." He ducked under one of the ever-lit torches.

"_Exactly!_"

Hermione looked suddenly hurt--when Harry held the library door open for her (quite a feat, as that door was heavy), she marched through with only a nod as her 'thank you'.

"You never tell me about missing your parents, or how the Dursleys treat you (don't shake your head, Harry, I know they as good as abuse you!), and to date you haven't said _one single word_ about how Cedric's and Sirius's deaths have affected you!"

"Maybe," Harry returned hotly, his voice rising in its own familiar way, "I don't WANT to talk about those things!"

Hermione flinched; her brows knitted into a hard frown. Harry realized he had, somehow and strongly, hurt her, as Ron often thoughtlessly did.

"If I weren't here to show you something...if I didn't care about you...if I didn't know you were just lashing out... I'd leave, Harry. You know I would."

He was taken aback--but before he could remedy the situation, she walked off, squeezing between bookshelves. He followed, emotions swirling within him--he felt as angry as he had more than a week ago, abandoned at the Dursleys' and close to losing his mind _and_ cool. Yet he didn't _want_ or mean to hurt anyone...particularly not Hermione, or Ron...

They reached a short set of stairs neither had noticed the day before; Hermione led the way up, pushed open the tiny door, they ducked under it, and then she pointed out the new thing she'd discovered.

_A piano!_

Harry strode over to the bench and sat, as if he had done so all his life; his fingers stroked and played with the dusty keys.

"Bloody... Hermione, it's still in tune!"

"_Really_?" She sat next to him on the bench, their argument of a few moments ago forgotten--her fingers overlapped his, then stretched to the other side of the piano. "Yes, they _are_! Good, I know how to play some things then."

"Like what?" Harry's fingers traced the side of the instrument--and found an insignia in the mahogany-colored part (the actual color was mostly sepia). He looked down, and his emerald eyes found gold initials: **_R.A.B._**

His eyes moved up to meet Hermione's gray ones. "'Mione! I think Sirius's _brother_ owned this piano!"

"What? B-but--he was pureblood, wasn't he?"

"Yeah...but I'll bet he kept Muggle stuff all over the house in secret! _R_ for Regulus. Dunno about the _A_, but the _B_--yup."

Hermione gazed sadly at the dust-covered piano. "Why didn't he take better care of it? It's obviously neglected. I used to take piano lessons..."

"Hermione," Harry pointed out dryly, "if Sirius's mum figured out that her son kept Muggle stuff in the house _and_ wanted piano lessons, his face would be the next one burned beyond recognition on the family tree."

"Well. Yes."

"_And_ he wouldn't have become a Death Eater."

"Well. Yes."

There was a pause, then Hermione, excitement renewed, whispered: "Harry--let's find all of the things that Regulus hid. Since this piano was kept up so well (well, considering the circumstances _you_ pointed out), I suspect that Sirius kept it up in his brother's honor. And the other hidden stuff as well."

"Even though he barely liked him?"

"Even though. --Oh, Harry, _can_ we search? It'll give us something to do here--" She paused.

"--Since it's kind of boring, I know. Sure, I guess. I'm not in charge or anything..." He trailed off, lost.

Hermione gave him an odd, meaningful look. "Of course you are. I mean, you soon will be..."

_What?_

"Hermione... let's go back up. Andromeda might start to look for me soon."

"Okay." Hermione's gray eyes began to gleam. "Harry...why don't we play a song or two first? I know _Killing Me Softly_."

"All right."

She started the song, he added in on the lower parts, and soon they were laughing as they missed important parts of the chorus.

* * *

_Killing Me Softly _floated gently upstairs, catching the ears of a few dining Order members--and Andromeda Tonks, was was torn between relaxing and looking slightly-frantically for her lost patient.

One of them chuckled at the missed choruses. "Quite unusual."

"Wait until Mister Weasley gets here," Kingsley Shacklebolt warned, in his usual slow voice. "Then this house will have no peace."

They laughed softly, almost afraid to miss the quiet music.

One of the women remarked, "I didn't think The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black would dare house any Muggle pianos."

"Don't say that too loudly; Mrs. Black herself is still sticking around," quipped Andromeda; then she herself lowered her voice. "Little Regulus used to sneak off when pressure rose and play _Fur Elise _and all those other genius pieces. He taught Narcissa how to play, though I doubt she remembers the little boy now.... I wish Harry and Hermione would come up. It's getting late; this house can be dangerous at night."

"They'll be fine," Kingsley soothed, his deep voice stable. "They're obviously having fun (Merlin knows Mr. Potter has had precious little of that), and if I know Miss Granger, she'll have herself _and_ Mr. Potter up here and to bed in no time."

Andromeda sighed. "I suppose."

"Let's enjoy the music," the first Order member suggested. "I haven't heard _Killing Me Softly _since before my Mum's arthritis."

And they did--expertly hiding their chuckles along the way.

* * *

_Hey, Ron,_

_Wish you were here. Hermione's found a library (typical her, right?), and now we're looking all over the house for out-of-place stuff. She's okay, and now I am too--thanks to Andromeda Tonks. (Tonks's_ mum_, Ron!) You've got to meet her...._

Harry sent the letter off with the end as a repetitive wish that Ron would show up, cheerful as always. Then he went downstairs, to meet Hermione.

They spent today (the twentieth, a Saturday) searching for more treasures of Regulus Black's--and by the afternoon they'd found a Muggle kid's cup, a violin string, some blankets and the prize--a small TV set, complete with antenna.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, as they watched Tonks set down the TV in the room Harry and Ron had shared last summer.

"Yeah?"

"Do you...do you...not think I'm _important_ enough to talk to? About _big_ things, I mean?"

Harry pushed his dark hair away, incredulously. _Where does she get this stuff?_ "What? Are you mental?"

"I'm **_serious_**, Harry!"

"So am I: it's not you. It's just...no one would understand."

As his face darkened, as flashes of Cedric and Sirius crossed his mind, Hermione took his hand--reminding him of that third day, when he'd been so sick.

"_I_ would understand."

He didn't say anything. Then--

_THWACK!_

"Pig!" they both exclaimed at once, rushing to the window--neither of them had expected a reply, since their letters kept crossing and rarely connecting. Hermione opened the window, while Harry seized the hyperactive owl and the letter he held.

_Harry, Hermione,_

_Good to hear from you. And good news--Mum's starting to relent a bit! It's just a bit, but Ginny and I are celebrating. Until then--Harry, don't go all mental on everyone--and 'Mione, don't force any books on him 'till after O.W.L. results come in. Which is soon. Don't freak out._

**_Ron_**

"That was short," Hermione remarked, then: "Are you _sure_ he didn't have anything _nicer_ to say to me? Maybe in clear ink?"

Harry held it up to the light. "Nope. Anyway, I'm sure he saves his future compliments toward you for and in his _private_ letters."

She blushed. "Shut up!"

"Harry! Hermione!"

They flinched, headed over to the stairs to hear more clearly.

"Won't you come down? We have some things we need to tell you."

Harry sighed, and held out his arm to Hermione, overexaggerating.

"Shall we?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, and they descended.

Andromeda, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Remus Lupin were waiting for them--along with a few unknown Order members and Albus Dumbledore.

Harry froze.

"Ah, there you are," Andromeda said. "You need to know some things."

"Do we?" Hermione smiled at the others assembled in the kitchen; they waved back animatedly.

"You do," Kingsley Shacklebolt affirmed in his slow, easy voice. "This is quite important." The ring in his ear gleamed.

Professor Dumbledore spoke next, his voice also deep but gentle--Harry remembered that he had been here only four days ago and wondered what brought them together so often, especially after the previous year (devotion or duty?). "You are both aware, of course, that Sirius's will reading is tomorrow?"

_Oh. Yeah._

Hermione said "yes" very softly; Dumbledore looked to Harry, who could only summon the strength to nod. He had forgotten--for the past couple of days, he had actually _forgotten_...

Remus stepped forward; in a moment his arms were around both Hermione's and Harry's shoulders. "Some of us will be escorting you there--Tonks and I, and perhaps Kingsley or Mad-Eye--while Andromeda will go on ahead with her husband-you haven't met him?"

A man stepped up to them then, shaking both their hands--his hair was sandy brown, his eyes bright blue (though not as blue as Dumbledore's). "Nice to meet you. I'm Ted Tonks. So _you're_ the ones Andromeda's been baby-sitting."

Harry, Hermione and Andromeda all began talking over each other in sharp bursts:

"We're _not_ babies!"

"What are you saying?!"

"I _wasn't _baby-sitting, Ted, and you **_let_** me go, remember--"

The rest of them laughed (including Ted, which calmed his wife's fury).

"Hothead, she's always been."

Hermione turned to Andromeda. "You're going on ahead?"

"Out of necessity. I am what you'd call a lodestone in situations like this."

"Yeah, tomorrow you'll get to see how fired up my Andromeda can _really_ get," Ted told them, kissing his wife's cheek; she giggled and slapped his arm.

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "You're not coming?"

He smiled at the boy, who blushed at the new attention. "If you remember my letter, you know I am waiting for your permission to attend."

Harry nodded. Yes, he remembered.

Hermione asked Remus, "Professor--" he shook his head "--I mean, Remus--why haven't many Order meetings been held lately?"

The room went suddenly quiet.

Harry felt a sharp coldness in his gut. That gave way to anger--fresh anger.

"Well?" he lashed out, looking around at them all. "Is it because _we're_ here? Or have you gone mental and disbanded the Order? Or has-"

He stopped. _That _must_ be it!_ Yet it _couldn't_ be, not so soon after...

"Has--someone died?"

"Well," Remus replied evenly, "someone _has_ died."

Harry twisted 'round to glare at him. How _could_ he be so calm?

"I can explain," Professor Dumbledore broke in, and then did: "You see, since Sirius's death the technical ownership of this house has been--shall we say--up in the air."

Andromeda nodded in agreement.

Harry felt Hermione reach for his hand and squeeze it; he said to the headmaster, "Continue."

"Basically: we do not yet know if Sirius, as we hope, left number twelve, Grimmauld Place to you."

Harry's gut felt colder. Him? Inherit--_this_ place?

"And--if not?"

"If not," Dumbledore replied gravely, "we will have to evacuate this building. And we hope that does not have to happen."

Hermione squeezed harder. Remembering the family tree, Harry had a sickeningly accurate guess as to who would receive the Order of the Phoenix's headquarters if he did not.

"Order meetings are not required at this time," Kingsley added, after a nod from the others. "We simply send important messages in other ways."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other. The same question flickered in their eyes: _Wonder what ways?_

"Run along now," Ted Tonks said, out of nowhere. "There are some things even you shouldn't hear. Upstairs with you two." No one argued with him.

The Order members Harry didn't know dispersed--as well as Remus, who ruffled his hair and departed, and (surprisingly) Andromeda, who dragged her husband down the hall behind the other members--it was obvious a scolding was coming for Tonks's father.

Harry turned to follow Hermione, who was already halfway up the stairs--

"A moment, please, Harry."

He paused, turned back--Dumbledore was gazing expectantly at him. Nodding, he sat at the base of the stairs; the headmaster joined him, sighing as he sat.

"I'm getting too old for this, don't you think?" His query was cheerful.

"No," Harry responded honestly, "not at all."

"I wish everyone agreed with you." He was chuckling, which rather put a damper on how calm and trusting Harry had just been feeling.

"How long is this 'moment', exactly?"

Dumbledore's next sigh was inward. Perhaps we was coming across the wrong way with the boy--for every time he'd relaxed into thinking he and Harry were getting somewhere (namely, closer), the boy would jerk away--whether in fright or anger, he still did not know.

"Not long. --You see, I still don't have your answer."

_To wha--oh._

Harry laid his head on the headmaster's shoulder, cautiously. Time for a test.

"So--what, even if you _have_ to be there, you won't go just because--"

He felt fingers run through his hair, looked up and saw only gleaming half-moon spectacles. "If you do not want me there, they shall simply have to mail me whatever Sirius wished me to have."

Dumbledore was whispering at this point; it made Harry shiver, but did not change his decision. His mind had been made up ever since he'd read the man's earlier letter.

"Yeah, you can come. I want you there."

The headmaster's blue eyes twinkled, for the first time in a long while.

"Thank you, Harry. I will see you tomorrow, then? ...Your first good bit of fresh air in a while, hmmm?"

"--Fresh--_air_," Harry moaned, pretending to grab at Dumbledore's robes (today a deep blue with golden wizard hats here and there), and they both laughed.

* * *

Hermione and Tonks were waiting for him when he got upstairs.

"That took a while."

"Yeah, well," Harry fired back, quite out of much to say. He focused on the young Auror to divert attention away from his blushing. "How come you still look like you did over a week ago? Have you lost the ability or something?"

Now it was Tonks who blushed; but she quickly regained herself, said in a rush:

"Metamorphmaguses never lose their ability completely, it can only be dampened; and if you must know, I _choose_ to look this way." Then, glaring at the boy, she brushed past him and down the stairs.

Harry blinked rapidly. It was weird, being stared at by carbon-copy green eyes.

He called after her, "Is that how you _really_ look?"

"Harry!" Hermione punched his arm, dragged him away. "She's upset. Don't bother her right now."

"What's _with _Tonks anyway?"

"Don't you **_see_**, Harry, she's in love!"

_What?!_

"Love? But--_now_?"

"_Yes_, Harry," Hermione affirmed, less-than-patiently.

"But--"

"Love doesn't wait for prejudiced wizards to be defeated, Harry. It just comes."

"...I really don't want to talk about this."

She shrugged. "Suit yourself."

They started off toward the end of the hallway, where "Harry's sick room", as Andromeda called it, was located. Harry thought they were going inside, so he was puzzled when she tugged further at his hand.

"Harry--let's go up to the attic. Suddenly I'm not in the mood for any light reading."

Harry pulled back. "The--the attic?"

He did not want to go up there. In fact, he wanted no part of any adventure that might possibly involve--

"Come on, Harry, let's go up! Besides--we might find you-know-who, and I haven't seen him since I got here--" She pulled him up the stairs and had the door to the tiny attic ajar when there came a screaming from downstairs.

"Oh _no_," Hermione moaned, holding her ears.

"Should've known this would happen eventually," was Harry's falsely cheerful response.

"FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS, BEFOULING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS--"

"Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all!" Hermione yelled down; Harry had never heard her sound so irritated, not even when Ron had offended her in some way.

"WRETCHED HALF-BREEDS! FILTH! MAGGOTS!"

"That last one's new," Harry commented dryly. "When do you think _this _tirade'll end?"

"When whoever came in and set her off shuts her up," Hermione replied brusquely. _Still irritated_.

"How come she's only gone off now--unless she was shouting while I was chained to bed?"

"Not at all. I'd remember--I was so bored at first that I would walk past there just _wishing_ she'd go off. I think that our dear portrait-Mrs. Black's mood reflects that of the owner of the house's--deep down, anyway. _Way_ deep down."

"_Way_ deep down, Harry agreed; then, his face darkening: "But--Sirius is--"

"Not _Sirius_," Hermione said impatiently, glaring down two different sets of stairs. "You."

"_Me?_"

But it made sense--it explained why Mrs. Black had apparently been so taciturn before and during Harry's time there, _and_ why her emotions seemed as volatile as Harry's had been moments ago.

They noticed then that Mrs. Black had stopped screaming (_Only two outbursts--a new record._); someone downstairs must have pulled the curtains back over her. They heard Tonks muttering:

"Stupid great-aunt Black, just because she _didn't approve_ of Father--oh hello, Bill!"

Harry and Hermione cast each other glances.

"How's the family?" they heard Tonks ask.

"Well, let's see," came Bill Weasley's usually easygoing voice, now bitter, and Harry envisioned his red Weasley hair, long and in a ponytail, his hazel-green eyes, and the dragon-fang earring he always wore. "Ron and Ginny are miserable because they aren't here; Mum's miserable because that git Percy hasn't come home yet; Dad's fine, and I guess Little Percy is too, because there are whispers of promotions at the Ministry; Charlie's losing limbs with dragons as always, says he's well; and of course Fred and George are Gred and Forge."

Tonks laughed. "And what about you?"

"Pretty good, considering. Things're going well at Gringotts, and out there in Egypt..."

Hermione grabbed Harry's arm and pulled them both into the attic.

"_Hermione! _I could've tripped, or--"

"Nonsense. On _books_?"

"No book would dare trip _you_, Hermione--"

The attic was mostly the same as it had been the first time--same furnace in the corner, same piles of unkempt, messy, random objects. Many more blankets and quilts were piled in corners, and Harry thought he detected the faint scent of cocoa.

One of the different things, however, was staring at them from the center of the mess with a cold, strange expression in his bloodshot eyes.

"Kreacher!"

"The Mudblood is talking to me again," the short, gnarled, grimy house-elf muttered, pretending not to notice he had company (as always). "Kreacher has gotten tired of ignoring her, perhaps she'll stop speaking for once..."

Rage clawed at Harry's insides: he felt it scrape his gut, crawl to his arms and up his throat, and flood his mind. Before he knew it, he was snatching fruitlessly at the few inches between himself and Kreacher; only Hermione was holding him back.

"You traitorous, prejudiced, _sorry excuse for a_--"

"Harry, _please!_" Hermione begged, gasping heavily; he was strong, and she could barely restrain him.

"Get _off_!"

"The Potter brat is yelling now, Kreacher hopes old Master didn't pass along my mistress's house to him, but then old Master never had much sense, mistress always said--"

"Don't you DARE call Hermione _anything_ other than her name!" Harry strained against Hermione's grip, bellowing, blood roaring in his ears. "And IF YOU EVER INSULT SIRIUS AGAIN--!"

"Oi! What's going on up here?"

Bill Weasley poked his head around the door and took in the situation; in seconds, he had pushed Hermione aside and was guiding Harry to a point near the stairs, away from Kreacher.

"Now one of the blood-traitors is here, him and the Mud--" As Harry roared in further rage, Kreacher suddenly boxed himself on the head, jerked, and went on, not acknowleding Hermione's sympathetic shiver. "--and the Potter brat, oh my poor dear mistress, having all this filth befouling her house, what would she say to poor old Kreacher--"

"Yeah, yeah," Bill interrupted, casting a worried glance at Harry seething in the corner and Hermione struggling to soothe him. "We'll leave you to your paranoia, Kreacher. Do me a favor and stay up here, won't you?"

Kreacher's mutters grew softer and fiercer; paranoia, Harry realized with a shudder, was an understatement. "The blood-traitor boy thinks he can tell Kreacher what to do in Mistress's own house--"

"He can," Harry snarled suddenly, shoving Bill and Hermione down the stairs to the tiny, overheated room, and pausing in following them. "And I will, too: Stay in the attic. Don't argue or mutter under your breath. And don't come out."

_SLAM!_

They went down the stairs the rest of the way; Hermione gazed at Harry with eyes full of worry; Bill queried, "D'you think that mental elf will actually listen to you...?"

"Bill!"

"Yeah, I do think so," Harry replied, scowling; his scar had started to burn. "Besides, if Kreacher's mental enough to come down and _I_ see him, I'll hex him into Scotland."

"_Harry!_"

"Not necessary," Bill said at once, shooting down the idea and calming Hermione at the same time. "Trust me, Harry, it's not even worth it to mess with Kreacher. Whatever happened to him happened years ago, and he goes a little madder every day. Sure, some of us might've sped up the process a little--" he held up his hand to go on as Harry made an enraged noise "--but he'll have the same fate in the end--that wall with the rest of his kin, just like he's always wanted. His insanity has turned on him; I think he'll be dead by the time the will reading's over. And speaking of... bed, now. It's evening, late."

And he led them to their separate rooms--while each's thoughts had gone very grim.

* * *

"Wake up, little one."

Harry's eyes opened more easily than they had in days--a blurred Professor Dumbledore was slipping his glasses onto his face, smiling; this morning his robes were a glorious lavender, and they shimmered as he sat at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Good morning, as well. ...Today is the twenty-first, Harry."

A block of lead seemed to drop into Harry's stomach.

"Oh," he said softly. "The will reading."

"Yes." Dumbledore stretched out his hand and laid it on Harry's shoulder, stroking gently. "Are you feeling better? Do you still wish to go?"

"I'm fine. I'm going."

The headmaster smiled in a resigned sort of way, straightening his half-moon spectacles.

"I expected no less. You'll need to get ready to go, then--it is seven-thirty, and we must be at Gringotts by nine."

He rubbed the boy's shoulder comfortingly; and Harry felt a jolt of realization speed from his feet up through his middle, splitting to reach his arms, then shooting back up to reach his brain. And he saw, he _remembered_--being held in strong arms, that deep, soothing voice, the nightmares about Umbridge and Sirius and Lupin...

_Oh, Merlin._

"Harry?" Dumbledore's silver eyebrows rose. He removed his hand, having felt Harry shiver. "Is something the matter?"

"No," Harry replied quickly, staring into those brilliantly blue eyes, trying to convey inner calm and peace--nearly impossible to do with his mind spinning. "I'm fine, really. ...Er--where's everyone else?"

"Andromeda is at Gringotts; Tonks is waking Miss Granger; and Remus and Bill Weasley are downstairs."

"All right--" He began to gather things that he would need, like his towel and clothes--after the fiasco with Hermione and Tonks, he knew he'd never be caught in such a vulnerable state again.

"Well, ah..." Dumbledore seemed reluctant to leave; his bright blue eyes had dimmed somewhat. "I should be off to Gringotts now--I believe it will be best for me to be early--I just--er--wanted to see you before I left."

"Er...okay..."

Blushing at his sudden lack of speaking skills, Dumbledore nodded to the boy and slipped out the door.

Harry showered, dressed, and went downstairs--Hermione's hello was a sad smile, while Tonks patted him on the shoulder in a false expression of cheer--Dumbledore, who seemed to have just finished speaking with Bill (and to have regained his courage), gave Harry an encouraging wink and swept out, the door shutting firmly behind him.

Perhaps _too_ firmly.

"FILTHY HALF-BLOODS, IF MY ANCESTORS SAW THIS--!"

There was a masculine gasp, and Mrs. Black went quiet.

"Good," Bill grumbled, stretching his arms.

"Hermione," Harry asked, quickly pushing away his temporary distraction, "you said in your last letter that you went to Germany three days before. But you were _here_, right...?"

Hermione was musing to herself. "Must have been Professor Dumbledore who stopped Sirius's mum--huh, Harry?

"Oh, yes--Professor Dumbledore got a note from my parents about them getting plane tickets for three, so he acquiesced and Tonks saw me off for a while--so I guess I technically wasn't here, it just felt like it.

"Oh, but Harry--Germany was _wonderful_! We explored all the little gift shops and ate sausages and German chocolate (which is _heavenly_, Harry, believe me. We had a grand time. And on the wizarding side--an alley just as wonderful as our Diagon Alley!"

"Really?" Harry had always liked Diagon Alley; Hagrid had first taken him there, something he wasn't likely to forget.

"Yes, just like ours!"

"Tell me everything, I'm not hungry..."

Tonks glared at him, but he turned away and followed Hermione outside, listening to her talk excitedly about the German Diagon Alley and all its perks. Hastily, Bill and Tonks gave up their disgruntled looks and followed.

"Can we go?" Harry asked anxiously; the quicker they got to Gringotts, the farther away he was from running back into number twelve and burying himself in the covers.

"We're waiting for Remus," was Tonks's oddly soft response. "Mum and Dad have already gone ahead, thankfully, and so has Professor Dumbledore--Kingsley and Mad-Eye are off somewhere el--"

"No need to tell them everything, Tonks," Bill said gently--Harry glared at him, feeling indignance at this statement, but as Bill saw the glare he changed tack, pointed:

"Oh, look! There's Remus!"

Remus Lupin had indeed just Apparated into view: he strode over to them, shaking dust off his old robes.

"Change of plans," he panted, stuffing his wand into a pocket. "We're taking the Knight Bus."

"How come?"

"Never mind, we'll get there! Tonks--if you'd do the honors."

Tonks went pink, muttered something like "All--all right," and stuck out her right arm.

BANG.

Triple-decked, noisy, and a bright purple, the Knight Bus had come to rest several feet from number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

"Professor Lupin," Harry said softly, just under the bus's noise. "It's nice to really see you again."

Remus smiled, ruffled Harry's hair again--he hoped he wasn't blushing. "Remus, Harry. Call me Remus. I can't imagine you calling Sirius 'Professor Black'; can you?"

Harry could not help but chuckle, despite the pain thoughts of Sirius brought him. "No, you're right, he'd be furious... sorry. Erm--Remus."

"Yup. Speaking of--how're you holding up?"

His blush deepened. Couldn't they _not_ talk together? "I'm okay."

"Good," Remus replied absently, one eye on the parked bus. "Listen, Harry, you need to know--Severus is going to be there--at the will reading, I mean."

"_Snape?!_" Harry cried, ignoring Hermione's glance his way. "But Remus--_why_?"

"Shush...everyone Sirius put in his will is going to be there. That includes Severus--and Hermione," he added, when Harry looked her way. "I want you to stay calm, and be on your best behavior. Understand?"

Harry stared. That had to be the first lecture from an adult he actually liked--in a while, anyway. Unexpectedly, newfound love and respect for the tired man surfaced.

"Yeah, I understand."

Stan Shunpike finally made it out to greet them. "Welcome to the--"

"Yes, yes, we know," Bill interrupted, hurrying him on rather impatiently.

"'Ere--it's 'Arry! Or is it Neville this time?"

"I'm nobody today," Harry informed Stan, grinning.

"'Choo doin' now, 'Neville'?" Stan beamed, his eyes sparkling mischievously. Sometimes Harry forgot how young the man was. "Where you all 'eaded?"

"Questions, questions!" Tonks looked and sounded cross; immediately she got into a heated discussion with Stan, who frowned as if he remembered her behavior from somewhere (which he certainly should have).

"Look, miss, if Ern don't know where you're goin', 'e can't get you where you want to go. That's just 'ow it--"

"We're headed for Gringotts in Diagon Alley. And mind you don't go announcing our presence to the world like that here _or_ when we get there!"

Harry chuckled (as did Hermione), remembering too the last time Tonks had been short with Stan. Remus, hearing their muffled laughter, took it in an entirely different way.

"She's quite remarkable sometimes, isn't she?" he asked, staring admirably at her as she stomped her foot before the unnerved conductor.

"Huh? Erm--yeah--sure--" Harry stammered, staring in puzzlement between them. Fortunately, Bill stepped forward to stop Tonks's tirade.

"C'mon, you two, on--no time to waste."

Remus echoed this sentiment, and soon a recovering Stan led them to some of the random chairs on the second deck. Harry took the window seat, with Hermione next to him and Remus on the outside; Bill and Tonks stayed on the first deck.

"Off we go," they heard Stan say downstairs, then--

BANG.

Hermione moaned, pushing her brown hair away. "I'd forgotten how _wonderful_ the Knight Bus's time record and speed were."

"So had I," Remus agreed; he looked as miserable as Harry had ever seen him, and that was saying something. Even so--

"You'll get used to it," he assured--all the while wishing they'd thought to bring buckets along.

* * *

Professor Dumbledore and Ted Tonks were outside Gringotts, waiting, as the Knight Bus pulled up to the curb--or, rather, shot up.

BANG.

Several passengers made their way off and into the rest of Diagon Alley--a very few briskly, some groggily, and others in near-sick states.

Harry spotted the pair the moment he and Hermione leapt off the bus, thanking Stan and Ernie (Hermione insisted on this, even though she _had_gone a little green during the ride); he saw Dumbledore's blue eyes light up as he greeted some of the other, more in-awe passengers, all while keeping them in his sight.

"Good morning, Professor..."

"Professor Dumbledore! How great to..."

"_There _you are," Tonks cried, dislodging herself from her father's hug to look them over. "Thank goodness."

Dumbledore sidestepped Bill, smiling at Remus before looking Harry and Hermione over himself. When all seemed to be to his satisfaction, he chuckled. "Ted was threatening to take the bus apart. I am glad that wasn't necessary. Did you have a safe trip?"

"Ah..."

"Er..."

"Well..."

Dumbledore's smile widened behind his silver beard. "I see." His expression suddenly changed entirely, as if he sensed something they didn't; relief and further worry were plain on his face.

"You should get inside. Nymphadora, Bill, if you would...? Remus and I must speak. And you too, Ted..."

The group split; Ted led Harry and the others inside; pausing at the counter, he said to a goblin, "We're here for the will reading of Sirius Black."

"Are you _all_?" The goblin turned to face them--with a jolt, Harry recognized Griphook, one of the first goblins to ever help him here.

"Yes--I'm Ted Tonks--this is my daughter, Nymphadora, Bill Weasley next to her, and Hermione Granger and Harry Potter."

Griphook checked something off on parchment. "Mmmm, yes, all listed. Go on in, then--fourth door on your left, marble-white...."

"Er," Tonks's father managed; and, sighing, Griphook moved from behind the desk to lead them to the room, down the dimly-lit hall.

("Dad's _horrible _with directions," Harry heard Tonks whisper to Hermione. "Good thing goblins can tell that sort of thing without too much explanation.")

An eerie silence accompanied the corridor--which left Harry and Hermione to wonder how Bill Weasley fit into Sirius's will, _and_gave Harry an opportunity to catch up with Griphook, who was walking at a brisker pace than the rest of them.

"Er--excuse me...Griphook? I don't know if you remember me--"

"Harry Potter," the goblin affirmed immediately. "You and Rubeus Hagrid came here, a little over five years ago. You retrieved some gold from your parents' vault, while Hagrid retrieved quite an..._**interesting**_ object from another one."

"The Sorcerer's Stone."

"Nicolas Flamel's Sorcerer's Stone," Griphook agreed, opening the fourth door on the left and moving aside so that the others could enter. "So you _did _discover what the object in question was! I knew you would, when you started jabbering all those questions at Hagrid on the way out. _And_ had a hell of a time finding out, I would suppose... You have become quite formidable in five years, Mr. Potter."

Harry lowered his eyes. _He_, formidable?

Griphook chuckled. "I assure you, Mr. Potter--you have no reason to doubt my word."

_That I don't._

Nodding, Harry went through the door--and with a delighted shout, his eyes registered an entire sea of red--and one head in particular.

"_Ron_!"

They met in the middle of the cold, already half-full room--crying out, hugging, ignoring all else. Harry, Ron and Hermione were together again, even if only for a little while in a desolate place.

When they pulled out of their embrace, both Harry and Ron were hastily wiping their eyes; Hermione was beaming. When they had all recovered, it was Ron who spoke first.

"You're here! _Finally_; I mean, mate, I was starving!"

Hermione patted his shoulder. "Too bad. There's no food here, Ron. Who serves food at the equivalent to a funeral?"

_Oh, Hermione, I feel so much _better_!_

"What? But the twins--"

They looked over and saw Fred and George Weasley grinning--looking, in fact, perfectly pleased with themselves.

"Only way we got him down here, wouldn't you say, George?"

"Definitely so, Fred. Great plan, by the way."

"Oh, all credit goes to you! _You _told him Tonks was bringing it."

"I insist, _you_ take the blame..."

"Why you bloody--" Ron began, and did not get to end.

"_Ronald Weasley, if you finish that sentence--!_"

Ron went redder than his hair. "Yes, Mum. No, Mum. Sorry, Mum." He sent a grimace Harry's way.

Molly Weasley came bustling up, scolding the twins and grabbing another Weasley on the way; she embraced Harry and then Hermione the moment she reached them.

"Oh, Harry, Hermione--how are you? Is everything all right? How have you been? Ron's missed you, of course, and so has--oh _stop_, Ginny, you've been complaining for almost three weeks!"

Harry then noticed the sole Weasley daughter trying to push her way out of her mother's grip--failing miserably, her brown eyes fell on him, and she blushed.

_Oh, not _this_ again._

"Hi, Harry," Ginny Weasley said gently.

"Hey, Ginny; what's going on?"

She shrugged. "Nothing much."

Hermione touched his shoulder, getting his attention. "Harry, let's sit. We look out of place..."

"Okay--c'mon, Ron..."

But Mrs. Weasley had more questions. "Have you been all right...you know...?"

"At Sirius's house?" Hermione finished for her.

Harry mustered up a smile. He was having to do that a lot today. And the past few weeks as well. "It's actually been really fun, Mrs. Weasley."

"Mmmm.... Really?" She looked skeptical, as well she should.

"Really! We found some Muggle stuff around the house, we've been exploring the entire thing...we even found a piano!"

Across the room, they heard Arthur Weasley's suddenly-excited voice: "Did someone just say 'Muggle' and 'piano'?!"

"Oh, lord," Mrs. Weasley moaned.

Hermione smiled at Ron. "We missed you loads, you know."

Ron's blush deepened; he was watching Ginny, who was alternating between watching the twins and watching her shoes. "Erm...yeah...we--I missed you and Harry, too. We've been going mental at home, so I think Mum and Dad are finally getting tired of us."

Harry pulled them both over to seats--he sat, with Ron on his left (next to the twins and Charlie Weasley, second oldest) and Hermione on his right, at the end of the table. Ginny sat next to Hermione, pulling her into fast, incomprehensible girl-conversation that Harry didn't bother working his way into.

Bill strode in, kissing his mother and looking away to talk to a goblin (_Oh yeah--forgot he works at Gringotts in Egypt_) who followed him, wielding many sheets of parchment and a small, golden box.

_What...is...that...?_

Taking his mind from it for the moment, Harry proceeded to tell Ron about Andromeda Tonks (omitting the embarrassing bathroom scene that Tonks had just _had_ to tell her mother about, with accompanied laughter) and her husband, who was now chatting with Fred and George.

"Tonks's mother, eh?" said Ron, smirking. "Sounds cool. That explains why Tonks is acting so weird. Hey--is it that lady over there?"

He pointed, and Harry followed his gaze--Andromeda herself was taking some fo the papers from the goblin and passing them to the nearest Weasleys.

"That's her. And Hermione says that Tonks is acting weird because she's in--"

"And _what_ is Mr. Potter saying about _me_?"

Tonks strode over, saying hi to Ginny, whom she was fond of, greeting Ron and ruffling Harry's untidy hair--we felt himself go scarlet, completely scarlet, from his chin to his ears, and muttered for her to "shove off".

"Strange, right?" Ron's smirk widened; Ginny frowned, as if puzzled.

Harry frowned. "You shove off, too."

"Positively _spacial_, Harry. --Hey, Hermione, just how strange can _you_--"

Hermione leaned over Harry's lap to punch Ron's shoulder, then blushed as Harry howled with laughter.

Ginny giggled. "Watch yourself, Ron."

Hermione smiled shyly at Harry, who grinned back. It was great to be together again.

* * *

Albus nodded across at Remus, his nerves on edge. Today one of Voldemort's closest followers would be sitting in the same room with Harry, with _his_Harry, along with two-thirds of the immediate Malfoy family! It did not sit well with him— or Remus, apparently, after the agitated conversation they'd had outside.

Yet what could he do? Ragnak, the goblin coming out of their room, had promised that Bellatrix's wand would be confiscated until the will reading was over, considering her reputation—and if she tried to use wandless magic, they would throw her down with the dragons. But what difference would that make if someone was irreparably hurt first?

"Albus Dumbledore and Remus Lupin," he said to Griphook (newly returned to his post), who nodded over parchment and waved the three on to the room; then he pressed Ragnak. "I know you have taken all possible precautions, but—"

Remus spoke over him, almost impatiently. "Look, sir, Harry Potter is in mourning for one of my best friends whom he's recently lost—the last thing we need is for the psycho who killed him to be in the same room with him!"

Ragnak's tone was cool. "I am sorry, but that is not my problem. Perhaps if Mrs. Lestrange had had as much…misfortune…as one Lucius Malfoy, she would not be required by law to attend her cousin's will reading…"

"Sir," Albus stressed, his cerulean eyes pleading, "you must understand! This is not just about Harry's safety—his emotional well-being comes into play as well! Surely you see this."

The goblin started to laugh—when, Albus, understandably offended, straightened his shoulders and opened his mouth to argue further, he quickly ceased and hastened to explain.

"Might I call you 'Albus'?"

"…I suppose."

"Sometimes, Albus, you're as stoic and regal as an eagle…no one can get past your exterior, and we goblins hardly even try. Yet…when it comes to your young fledgling Mr. Potter, you instantly become the parent he needs and secretly desires. Some would call that 'adorable'… I think we'll try not to embarrass you and call that 'impressive'."

Albus felt his mouth drop open. He went as red as his "fledgling" had gone moments before in the reading room. "I—I'm afraid I don't quite…quite know what you—"

Remus patted his shoulder reassuringly, not at all fooled. "Sorry, Albus, but in this case we see right through you. Don't try and deny anything."

Albus felt warmer—so much so that he was almost glad to catch a glimpse of blonde hair and call "Oh, hello, Narcissa!"

* * *

Harry, on the other hand, did not feel happy at all to watch the goblin called Ragnak usher the Malfoys into the previously-cheerful room—but he noted that Draco's father was not among them with a rush of something like pride—so a Death Eater really _had_ paid a price for attacking teenagers at the Department of Mysteries, after all. At least there wouldn't be any more brawls between him and Ron's dad.

He saw Andromeda rise from her seat next to Mr. Weasley, and they both examined the Malfoy matron more closely. Narcissa's pale blonde hair went well with her equally pale features; in fact, Harry didn't think she'd physically changed since the first time he'd seen her, at the Quidditch World Cup. Emotionally, her ice-blue eyes told a different story, though…

_Is it just me, or does she look utterly depressed?_

Draco Malfoy, to Harry's mind, looked the same way he always did—cocky, cruel, verbally vicious, and always ready with a sneer perfected by ages of practice. He thrust this practiced sneer at the Weasleys, bumping it up a notch for Ron, Hermione and Harry—just in time to stumble on the back of Ginny's chair, on the way to his own. She pushed her chair back in, not in the least startled.

"Sorry," she said sweetly, shrugging her shoulders.

Harry could have hugged her—and so, by all their looks, could all of her brothers. (They all had to settle for grins, but even Hermione smiled at this.)

These grins were wiped out when Bellatrix Lestrange entered the room, dark cloak trailing impressively, with a smile on her face. The room seemed to darken with her, to shrink in dimensions, to take on the same cool madness as the witch who had entered it; it was as though a shadow of impenetrable darkness descended upon them all, only to dissipate in the next few seconds—it could have never been there.

Harry knew that something was wrong inside him—his chest went cold and his thoughts went hot, blazing hot, hotter than fire or the tingle of magic in his veins, telling him that revenge, now in range, was not such a horrible thing after all…

Hermione was stroking his shoulder, whispering in his ear, but Bellatrix was the important one to him, was the sole thing he saw—she was sitting next to Draco, ruffling his hair but looking straight at him as well.

"_Aaah—did you love him, little baby Potter?_"

_Guess what, Bella? I'm no little baby anymore. Are you scared?_

Narcissa nodded coldly to everyone in the room, her eyes fixing last on Harry's green ones; but he and Sirius's killer were locked in a stare that none could break.

"Hello, little Potter," Bellatrix breathed; her dark curls shone, her brown eyes gleamed.

The hot feeling lessened, and Harry found that he could smile. "Hello, Bellatrix. How's the family?"

She frowned briefly, but quickly regained her composure. "You are playing games with me."

"I am." He flexed his fingers threateningly, and her eyebrows rose.

Dumbledore and Remus strode in, both nodding to Ragnak holding the golden box and taking their places—next to Tonks, who was next to her parents, who were next to Bellatrix and the Malfoys. Snape slipped in last, further infuriating the boy.

"Well!" Dumbledore said brightly, his blue eyes flickering from Harry to Bellatrix. "Now that we are all here, why don't we begin?"

"That would be helpful," Narcissa sniffed, folding her hands on the table. "I have better places to be."

Andromeda's smile made Harry shiver. "Don't we all, little sister?" It was that same smile that had reminded him of her older sister, who was currently glaring at her.

Meanwhile, the goblin had moved back over to the golden box. He tapped on it once, twice, and it opened…

…and as quills flew out to accompany the parchment they'd all received, the nearly-ghostly projection of the late Sirius Black came into everyone's view.

"Well…. We're going to skip the 'if you're seeing this' thing everyone_ usually_ does."

Harry lost the ability to speak; Bellatrix seemed to freeze; and Fred and George cried, simultaneously, "_Whoa_."

"Surprising, eh?" the glowing Sirius bragged, tossing his head. "A combination of wizard and Muggle technology--try not to croak, Narcissa. My little brother taught me well in this--eh, Andromeda?"

Andromeda's smile was sad and solemn--her husband could not console her.

"Poor little Regulus...had to write him out. --Ah, well. George, Fred, you'll find the secret to this "ghost" stuff in your personal papers. Happy haunting!"

"_Awesome_," the twins whispered, fire in their eyes.

Sirius spread his hands, continuing gradually. "Let's tackle the true Blacks first--Bellatrix, Narcissa, Andromeda. And their offspring, too." Draco sat up straighter, his pale gray eyes glinting greedily, and Hermione fingered her wand across the table, glaring at him. "To my oldest cousin, Bellatrix, that poodle-turned-female-dog (ahem, pardon, but I thought it best not to go into detail on this thing) and her Pomeranian of a husband, Rodolphus...a sixteenth of the Black fortune. No, my dear, you're not getting what you want, I see that look on your face even now... but I _do _have something else for you. Er, Ragnak or whomever, if you'd hand it over now..."

Chuckling at some private joke, Ragnak reached into the golden box, momentarily distorting Sirius's image, and tossed a small, powder-blue item to Bellatrix--she opened it and a light, melodic tune floated out...

"Present from childhood," Sirius clarified smoothly. "I'll bet you remember. It's totally indispensable, by the way.... And since you have no devil offspring for me to worry about (I hope), on to my favorite middle cousin."

He paused only a moment, his dark eyes glittering.

"Andromeda. D'you know, sometimes I loved you more than my own flesh-and-blood brother? Too bad being in thisstate I can only show you with materialistic crap. I know Tonks was hard on you, but you'd better have enough mothering left in you for Harry or you _and _Ted'll be answering to me soon enough. Two-sixteenths to you and Ted, my dear—which is quite a slap in the face to Rodolphus, in case he didn't catch it."

Andromeda chuckled despite herself. "All right, Sirius. You can trust me to do that at least."

When both her sisters glared meaningfully at her, she sighed, pointing to herself. "Hey! I can't help being Sirius's favorite. But I am the lodestone of the Blacks, capable of besting you _both_ in a duel—remember?"

Crossing his arms, Sirius sighed as well. "Narcissa…our youngest and truest fallen angel. How's Lucius? And Draco? Cousin Sirius is giving you and Nymphadora each one-sixteenth of the fortune, since for different reasons neither of you seems to want my money. And another to you, my youngest cousin, with a charge: make sure Bella's music box plays whenever she's done wrong by someone—you know, the usual Death Eater mischief. My last request of you, don't worry. Use the Galleons to bail Lucius out of Azkaban, assuming he's finally been put there by now. –Oh, wait, can't do that…"

Arthur Weasley hastily turned a chuckle of his own into a snorting cough.

"There. I've done my Death Eater and to-be family members, as obliged…so now that you have what you came for, get out. Go on—all of you—_out_!"

_Slam!_

"This is an outrage," Draco Malfoy cried, face oddly flushed; his fist had thumped against the table. "There is much more that that old traitor owes us! Us, the Malfoys! One of the most powerful, pure families in the wizarding world!"

_You mean _former_, Malfoy._

Narcissa's blue eyes seemed to harden. "Do not make a scene, Draco."

"Not like your name's worth much **now**," Ron muttered; Hermione elbowed him, hissing "Shush! Are you _trying_ to start something?!", but it was too late; Draco was burning a hole through Ron's blue eyes with his own gray ones, looking murderous.

"Mother, that old criminal is withholding the Black fortune from its rightful heirs! We should _sue_, we should _protest_, we should—"

"'Sit down and shut up' should be next!"

He was standing. Heat rushed to angrily color his ears: he was staring daggers at Malfoy now, wishing he had a curse that could be thrown, or maybe just some more mud—

"Something to say, Potter?" Draco whispered dangerously.

Harry saw Snape standing now at the back of the room, saw his dark eyes flicker back and forth between them while moving almost unnoticeably closer; but he fixed his blazing green eyes on Draco's chilly gray ones. "Yeah, I do have something to say. First: Sirius was no criminal, and believe me, _you'd_ know firsthand—"

"Harry!" Hermione, Ginny, and Mrs. Weasley cried, moaned, exclaimed.

"—Second," Harry persisted, ignoring Remus's sudden presence behind him, "no Black was more rightful than Sirius. _You_, Malfoy, are only part of the family through _her_!"

His finger jabbed in Narcissa's direction; she only sniffed. It was a rather rude thing of him to say, especially when _he_ wasn't even related to Sirius by blood, but he was definitely closer emotionally.

"And that _certainly_ doesn't qualify you to his fortune! You—"

"Ahem."

All hostility paused when Sirius cleared his throat. Arms still crossed, a grin spread over his face.

"In case my prediction is correct and Harry is beside himself with fury right now…would Moony and Dumbledore please move to restrain him? I'm only predicting Lucius Malfoy's eventual arrest sometime soon; there's only one murder I want on my godson's hands."

Harry felt Remus's hands settle on his shoulders and tighten; he heard the air carrying Dumbledore's soft voice to his ears. "Harry…if you would, please calm yourself and sit."

Still feeling warm, he did so—only for his eyes to be again drawn to the Malfoys and Bellatrix.

Narcissa was standing, gathering her robes about her, and exchanging quick words with Ragnak the goblin: "My son and I have signed your papers. –Come, Draco, you can see that we are not welcome." She made gracefully for the door.

Bellatrix, standing too, was not as kind; in fact she practically spat. "I agreed to represent my husband, and in doing so I will not fight this…_atrocity_ of my oldest cousin's, blood traitor that he was. Not now. Not today. But one day…" Her face formed a particularly enraged frown.

"Shouldn't have killed him, then," Harry snarled.

Bellatrix turned around slowly, and her dark eyes fixed on him—he stood up again, ignoring Remus's growl and other varying noises from the Weasleys.

The music box in the Death Eater's hand started to hum, to sing....

She squeezed it firmly, silencing it, then whispered: "The Dark Lord will simply love to hear of the consequences of your fury today." And she left, pushing the protesting Draco along with her.

_Oh no you don't!_

Harry had dislodged himself from Remus's hold and bolted from the room in seconds.

* * *

"Mrs. Lestrange! _Mrs. Lestrange!_ You are forgetting your wand!"

_Sorry, Sirius--only one of your predictions was right that night. There just has to be more than one murder..._

He pushed the two Malfoys aside, coming to a stop just as Bellatrix retrieved her long, thin wnad from Griphook's equally long fingers.

She saw him immediately.

"Little Potter!"

"Bellatrix."

"Harry!"

Dumbledore was behind him, seizing his shoulder, panting lightly--it was obvious that he'd had to run to catch up.

_Ignore him._

"You're going to hell--you and Voldemort--_you hear me_?! I promise that I'm going to _gladly_ put you there!"

"_Harry!_" he heard his Professor gasp, with a tinge of panic; the grip tightened.

Bellatrix's finger traced her lip thoughtfully; it curled upward into a smile. Her voice went very quiet: "It looks as though I shall have a lot to tell the Dark Lord--he will be pleased, oh so pleased. And as for you and I...a few more losses such as this, and I do believe I'll have a fit little apprentice in you, Potter...keep practicing your Unforgivables, now..."

Harry roared, fury propelling him forward, out of Dumbledore's suddenly-limp arms--he pulled out his wand, yelled a spell from one of the books in number twelve's library, and a ring of bright light sped towards the female Death Eater--

She moved away, laughing, but her laugh died as her cloak caught fire--

"_Mrs. Lestrange!_ Do stop goading other beneficiaries of Mr. Black's will!"

"Mrs. Lestrange, such behavior is tolerated from no one. We allowed you here on the understanding that..."

"Oi, Bella!"

Harry turned, still quivering with rage--Andromeda Tonks was striding up the brilliantly-lit hall, looking just as furious. She stopped briefly to hiss something into a paling Narcissa's ear, but then she went on, pushing him aside and stopping, feet from her older sister.

"Andromeda!" Bellatrix's face curled into a sneer. "I thought I made clear my disowning of you."

Narcissa tried to cut in; while doing so, Harry thought she looked much younger, more human. "My sisters, perhaps now is not the time and place for such a display..."

"Not so clear," Andromeda noted, ignoring their youngest sister (Harry suspected that had happened a lot). "For you are here when you knew I would be present as well, are you not? I would have guessed you'd skive off as your dear husband seems to have."

She had touched a nerve. "He did _not_"skive off"! Rodolphus is in a situation which is none of your business, nor could you even fathom it--Snape, Narcissa, myself and others could tell you much the same!"

"Why _did_ you come, then, older sister? It was not to gloat at what you'd done. Was it because you have finally seen too much wrong?"

"_I have not!_ There _is_ no wrong in rule by those of pure blood, you wretched--"

Andromeda bowed her head; her dark curls were a mirror of her older sister's.

"But our sister has."

They both stared at Narcissa, who was staring hopelessly at them both. She gripped Draco's arm, and he squirmed--he was busy gazing at his half-mad aunt in wonder with a touch of fear.

"Cissa," Bellatrix whispered. Her brown eyes had blurred, dulled. "Is that--it can't be--_true_?"

The Malfoy matron looked from one sister to another, seemingly lost: and in the end, she chose neither side.

"I am tired. Come, Draco--we are going home."

They Apparated from the hall, Malfoy gripping his mother's arm less-than-casually, and all went awkwardly quiet.

Andromeda spoke almost gently now, as if she knew her sister's new pain. "Bellatrix, you forgot something."

She threw across that powder-blue music box, which started to hum as if on cue: _Da da, da da, da da da di da_...

Bellatrix's body whipped around and vanished with such a loud _CRACK_ that several goblin jumped a few feet in the air--then settled, grumbling to each other.

Harry, mesmerized somehow by what he had just seen, almost missed feeling Dumbledore's hand on his shoulder, rubbing lightly.

"Come, Harry... she is gone. Let us move forward."

* * *

Sirius seemed to unfreeze the moment the three of them re-entered the room.

"Right, then--now that the room should be pleasant again... I move to the Weasleys, my favorite "blood traitor" brood. But first, a note to Molly.

"We never could quite agree on how to treat Harry, could we? You wanted another little boy, I wanted a fun lifetime with a bit of James and Lily…and it seems you've won out that battle. I'm sorry for butting heads with you all of the time. As you can see, being dead helps me admit that I was wrong without my ego taking a beating. ...Just do one thing for me…take care of Harry's outward needs for me, okay? Don't let him neglect himself. But remember—he'll be a man soon! Don't go _babying_ him."

Molly Weasley sobbed softly, now sitting across from Ginny--she went over to comfort her mother, her eyes on her equally-somber brothers.

"Back to business. Arthur, Molly, Bill, Charlie, Percy (yes, _Percy_), Fred, George, Ron and Ginny--I have an entirely different bit of money on the side--I won't even telly you where it's from. But it's in tenths, and I am dividing it as follows: three-tenths to Arthur and Molly, one-tenth each to Bill and Charlie, one-tenth each to Fred and George (you'd better make the Marauders proud, gentlemen, or we _will_ find you), and a tenth each to Ron and Ginny--of course, Arthur, you and Molly will hold the latter two shares until your last children leave the nest, I trust?"

Every last Weasley in the room was rendered speechless.

Sirius's arms uncrossed slowly, almost thoughtfully. "And the last share goes to Percy Weasley...if he read my letter and is standing outside the door, ready to come in, kiss his family, and complete them again. Only if."

Ted Tonks was the only one who moved to open the door--and in walked Percy, still red-haired, still wearing his stiff glasses, but with an entirely different look on his face: determination.

"I quit my job," he said softly. His brown eyes glimmered with tears.

Mrs. Weasley began to wail--she leapt up as Percy kissed his siblings, and pulled him into a hug with she and Mr. Weasley, sobbing still.

While the Weasleys drew closer in one corner, Sirius's attention turned to that of one of his closest friends in life.

"Remus Lupin...our Moony, our last true Marauder. Forgive me for leaving you so soon. I know that no amount of my wretched money can mend a fractured friendship, but take two-sixteenths of the original pile and remember me when you finally buy yourself some new dress robes. Remember sixth year, the best Marauder year of all. Take care of Harry and Tonks. And if I didn't get to take Wormtail out, do it for me. I know that James and Lily are itching to judge him--and so am I. I love you, Moony--"

Sirius's projection started to cry then; Harry saw that Remus did not cry but swallowed, hard, and his own insides twisted.

Harry's godfather was still crying, somewhere in that house. "Albus Dumbledore. I love you as well, did you know? I love you because you kept me safe when I didn't want to keep _myself_ safe; I love you because of how you have always treated me, all through the years..." His tears were gone. He spoke more softly. "And I love you because you love Harry. Whatever our petty differences were through the years, we always had that in common. So I give you the assurance of my respect, and to Hogwarts through you I give another sixteenth of my money. 'Use it well', as you were always quick to tell us in different situations.... And I want you to really watch over Harry. You can. You must. Remember, you love him."

Harry heard a light sniff near him; Dumbledore had moved himself and his papers into Ginny's empty seat, and his eyes were not twinkling. He put his hand gently over the headmaster's, and Dumbledore recognized him and squeezed tenderly.

"Severus Snape." There was resignation in Sirius's voice. "In life, I hated you. But in death...I don't know what we should be. So I leave to you, not money, but my memory; and twenty-four years' worth of apologies; and a large box of things from inside Buckbeak's old room that I think you'll appreciate. Go on, go get it, you have no more obligations here--and I know you're curious. I swear it isn't a trap. Peace go with you."

Harry caught only a glimpse of Snape's unfathomable expression before the man handed his signed papers to Ragnak and swept away. He was becoming more frightened as time passed and more signed papers were handed to the goblin, for he knew it meant that his turn to hear his inheritance was soon coming, and he did not think he could handle it.... His hands sweated in the grips of his protector and friend--they both squeezed comfortingly.

"To Hermione Granger..." Sirius grinned. "...the library under the house, which I am sure she has already discovered by now. Treasure it as we once did, Hermione--and I know I've said this several times already, but... you and Ron look after Harry, okay?"

"Okay, Sirius," Hermione whispered, head bowed.

"To the family house-elf, Kreacher--we have mistreated each other, I acknowledge that now. But you belong to Harry now, so any of your nonsense and--well, let's just say _some_ hexes work from beyond the grave. Obey him without question or deviation from his intent--wherever he _says you're to go_, you go."

Harry thought he could just picture Kreacher's response--for the projected Sirius had his back turned at this point, and so he sensed that the elf had been summoned specifically for that part of the will. And--was it just him, or did Sirius leave him some meaningful words? He didn't _have _to put that part in the will if he was talking directly to Kreacher...right?

"Harry. My godson."

Cold. Hot. Cold. Hot. Was he shivering or shaking? He didn't know...he didn't _know_...

"My dearest, and last-but-not-least...I love you. Do you know that? Regrettably, I never really got to tell you that out loud...but you can believe that I was thinking it, telling you in other ways. I'm so sorry I've left you, Harry. And I know I can't make it up to you with money..."

Harry was shaking. He felt Hermione's head rest on his shoulder, felt Dumbledore's hand stroke across his other shoulder and down his back, heard him whispering soothing words, and yet he was numb with grief and anger and fear and sorrow...

"...But I'm afraid that's all I have now. Take the seven-sixteenths and tell Gringotts to stuff it somewhere, because I know it means zip to you."

He vaguely saw Snape, of all people that could have returned, enter the room again and lock eyes with him, hissing something he could barely hear ("What are you staring at, Potter?!")--but he was concentrating too hard on not crying, on not opening the dam, to care.

"I'm also leaving the wretched house to you--but, I promise, not until you're old enough to bear its ridiculous burden. To be official about it--ahem." He shifted in the projection, putting on very official-looking spectacles that looked similar to Dumbledore's, and held up a glowing piece of parchment. "Ah--'the residence of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, London shall go to my godson, Harry James Potter, but shall be held formally by Remus John Lupin until Harry turns seventeen, et cetera, et cetera.' ...Now, Moony, I'd say you should suggest a new hidey-hole, because I've spent at least a year in here, and it's a bloody _inferno_. As to Harry..." Sirius's voice lowered to a conspiratorial whisper. "Burn the place. Seriously, mate. I'm cheering you on from the astral plane right now. I don't care _what_ the others say--if you have half a mind, you'll pack the few valuables and whisper an "_Incendio_" on the way ou--damn!"

Harry let out a stifled sob as part of Sirius's projected will caught fire--with a few muffled swear words and something that sounded like "_aguamenti_", the flickering light was snuffed out. _Just as he was_.

The room and Dumbledore's soothing grew blurry. Noise at the door was muffled, all went fuzzy and strange... he felt hot...

"Harry. I'm serious when I say this... I really **do** love you, like a son... oh, James and Remus were always much better at that sort of thing--are? Damn, I _hate _being dead and yet not dead at the same time! ...Never mind. I just want to say to you, Harry, that you're very special. I saw that in you during our first meeting in twelve _years_--think about that. You're going to be a great man, Harry, I knew that every time I saw you in the fire, rubbing essence of murtlap into the back of your hand--yeah, I _did _know about that!" Harry looked up, startled through tears, to see Sirius smiling proudly--quite rare for him in life. "I set up a few things for Umbridge, had Phineas prepared in case the snot ever infiltrated Albus's office. If ever. She'll be experiencing them now, I hope..."

Another sob broke loose. Dumbledore pulled Harry gently into his arms, and the dam broke: low cries escaped his throat, tears dampened his cheeks, yet he felt no freedom, no unburdening as he had eventually gotten with Cedric...

"Harry," the headmaster murmured. "Harry, shush...it's all right...it's almost over..."

Sirius rubbed at his eyes, took a deep breath. "I'm also leaving you my photo album, and a few personal things Reg left me--along with my respect, my confidence that you'll hang Voldemort's scaly hide in the "legendary" Chamber of Secrets... and my love for you, my only godson. Put Bella's arse back in Azkaban for me, okay? And... don't worry, Hagrid's got Buckbeak. Just live your life, and know that James and Lily and I are proud of you."

The projection-Sirius was crying as he dissipated, as Ragnak gently pulled out the real will, muttered a few things, and then whispered "_Adoperio_". The small, golden box closed, but none took much notice of it.

Harry was sobbing, shaking. Around him, hands reached through the circle that had formed to pat his shoulder (the boys), or caress his back (Hermione, Ginny, Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda Tonks). Dumbledore was closest throughout, whispering softly and stroking through his hair, while Snape sneered in the farthest corner, eyes stubbornly closed.

Remus kissed Harry's forehead, then addressed Dumbledore: "Should we go and waylay Stan?"

"I suppose," Dumbledore sighed, his soothing continuing. "You might as well, and tell Severus that if he must go, then he must--Harry still has some papers to sign."

They were the words that brought Harry back to the present--and, in terms of emotions, over the edge.

_No! If I sign those papers, then Sirius--Sirius will really be--_

That could not happen.

_I tried to forget him two weeks ago, and did, dishonoring him--I couldn't even stop eating properly to remember him! I did everything wrong--but I _will not _banish him!_

He tried to struggle out of his headmaster's arms. "Let go."

"Mr. Potter," Ragnak's voice said steadily, "as the Headmaster has pointed out, you _do_ still have some papers to sign."

Harry struggled, twisted around, as his breath hitched between words. "_No!_ I--will _not_--sign--those papers! Let **_go_**, Professor!"

"I cannot," Dumbledore whispered, rubbing his shoulders gently. "You know you have a responsibility."

"_I **won't**!_"

Magic flew from him, propelling him out of Dumbledore's arms and to the floor--

"Harry!" Hermione cried, moving toward him--but Ginny made it there first, just as he got to his feet; she stopped him when he tried to struggle.

She stroked his arm, her red hair gleaming. "Harry, don't do this. We have to go back to the Burrow, but even with us gone I'm trusting you to--_wait_!"

But Harry was already running--he tackled Charlie, sidestepped the twins, and ran straight into Snape.

"Going somewhere?"

Harry snarled, pulled out his wand, just as the Potions Master sneered and did the same. Hatred burned in both pairs of eyes; there was no reasoning with them now.

"Harry, **_no_**," Dumbledore moaned from somewhere close behind them. "Severus...don't..."

Snape made a complicated motion with his wand that the boy recognized. "_Fre_--"

"_Abicio!_"

SLAM!

Snape was smacked against the wall--his head wasn't even on the ground and Harry, on the way to meet Remus and Tonks and escape, ran smack into Narcissa Malfoy.

"You...!"

"Tell your murderess sister I _hate_ her," Harry growled, his breathing still somewhat shallow.

She recognized the wild, desperate look in his eyes, and gripped his arm tight--he howled with pain, but her grip tightened. He could not be set free.

Far behind him, Dumbledore burst into view, furious, having heard Harry's cry...

"Potter! Oi, _Potty_!"

Harry turned around, rage bubbling in his throat--there was Draco, there was the enemy, there was revenge...

Narcissa hissed in his ear. "Don't you _dare_ harm my--!"

"Potter! Been _crying_ like an infant, have you?" Draco crossed his arms, that repugnant smile on his face. "Good thing I stuck around to see _this_...what's wrong, can't find a new mutt?"

"You should NEVER HAVE BEEN HERE!!!" Harry roared, struggling now out of Narcissa's tight grip on him--could no one stop holding him back? "Defiling Sirius's name, when he was a much better man than _you'll_ ever become--if I don't kill you before you get there--"

"_Really_? When Father says it's _your_ fault he died?"

Narcissa let go in shock. "_Draco!_ How dare--"

Harry went numb--his blood became ice, his nerves fire, and his voice went to a low and threatening level. "You shouldn't have come, Malfoy. Now I'll make you regret it."

Draco smirked. "I'd like to see you try."

BAM!

He had punched Malfoy before he could stop himself, put every ounce of rage and hatred into a desperate swing that had blood spurting from his enemy's nose--and then Narcissa grabbed him again as he started forward once more, not finished--

"You hit my son." He heard bland disbelief in her voice. She was in shock. He wasn't, not anymore.

"Your son's an ass like his father! Now _let go!_"

She threw him away, icy eyes sparking with ire. "If you ever defile my family again--if you even come _near_--"

"I want _nothing_ to do with you! _He_ got in my way and now _he'll_ regret it!"

"Oi, mate!"

Harry turned, massaging his knuckles, to see Ron, Hermione and everyone else from that wretched room goggling--especially the Weasleys, whose hatred of the Malfoys was almost legendary.

"You punched Malfoy," Ron whispered, almost reverently.

_And that makes _you_ the only one of the three of us who _hasn't_,_ Harry thought absently, his thoughts bitter. The violent feelings weren't satisfying, like they were supposed to be. "_So_?"

"You punched Malfoy _in front of his mum!_"

_And Snape,_ he realized suddenly, noting the unfathomable eyes in the corner. _I am _really_ going to regret this when school starts._

Narcissa Malfoy, still glaring at Harry. was now leading her son off, down one of Gringotts' many halls--Draco looked back at them all, pinching his nose to try and stop the coppery flow of blood, and managed his most ferocious look--which was not very good. "You'll pay for dis, Podder..."

"Looking forward to your best shot," Harry fired back, and then they were gone.

He blinked and Hermione was at his side, pulling a cloth from her coat pocket and wiping his knuckles--which, he realized, had blood from Malfoy's precious pureblood nose on them. Then she petted that same hand once, twice, three times.

"I think I'm actually looking forward to that train ride," she said softly.

And Harry felt a strange, profound sadness that had nothing to do with his lost godfather.

* * *

The bus ride back was a depressing affair.

The Weasley, their goggling over, had soon left for the Burrow with a few hasty goodbyes and a lot of pushing from Mrs. Weasley in particular: it was time, past time, for her to catch up with her middle son.

Meanwhile Harry and Hermione, escorted by Remus, Professor Dumbledore, Tonks and her mother and father had hailed a Stan Shunpike on his way to a long lunchtime break in the Leaky Cauldron; needless to say, having three passengers left on board had got his hopes up too soon. Until now.

"This 'ad better be good," Stan had mumbled as they had filed (more like herded) on, tired and gloomy. And then his mouth had fallen open.

"Not to worry, my good man, we will be no trouble," Dumbledore had told him with a wink, and while promptly paying for all seven of them to ride. Only his companions noticed that his eyes weren't twinkling like always. "Number fourteen, Grimmauld Place, if you please."

"P-P-Professor Dumbledore! Ern'--blimey--"

"Hello, Stanley, Ernie. Normally I would commence with formalities, but I am quite in a hurry to get some remarkable students of mine to a safe place. Do forgive my rudeness."

"Of course, Professor--right this way--why, 'Arry! 'Choo do to get the 'Eadmaster of 'Ogwarts's attention in the _summer_? Firs' the Minister, now Professor Dumbledore...blimey...."

"You should see him during the rest of a year," Hermione told Stan, patting his arm too, which got the smallest of smiles out of Harry and a chuckle from Stan--until he saw a Tonks that, for once, he recognized. To her annoyance, he hurried her way.

Now as Harry stared out the window, he felt his face go hot and his eyes burn as they had not ten minutes ago--and before he knew it, he was crying again.

Dumbledore, seated next to him, turned to offer him a word of encouragement and instead found Harry in his arms, whimpering, racked with childlike tremors. Remus reached from in front of them and slowly rubbed across Harry's shoulders, one to the other, while the headmaster ruffled his hair.

"Oh god...papers...can't sign them..." Harry managed, moaning through sobs.

"It's all right, Harry. You're safe now. We can do this later.... Just relax now; I won't force you to talk when you're not ready...."

Remus, looking helplessly toward the rest of the group (who seemed as saddened as he), could only murmur "Shhhhh, shhhh..." and hope for the best; it was obvious whose attention Harry wanted.

As Dumbledore's soothing increased and steadied the boy, one of the three other passengers on the Knight Bus seemed to notice their plight; she said gently, "Oh, the poor thing."

Harry raised his head from Dumbledore's robes. His eyes were bleary and still watering fiercely.

"You look as though family died recently. Are you well? I know how much that can hurt..."

Her sympathy was touching, but all seven of them were thinking the exact same thing:

_You don't know the half of it_.

* * *

"DISGUSTING HALF-BREEDS, DEFILING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS--"

He could not think. He wanted quiet, to think this out, to think _everything_ out, to ground himself, but that damned portrait _would not shut up_, no matter which of the others went to try and quiet it. Even Dumbledore, who had actually stayed with them, seemed stressed.

"SLIME, FILTH, RUINING MY FAMILY'S HONOR--"

Remus moaned, gripping his hair tightly. "She is making me lose control of my emotions, Dumbledore, and I _can not_ lost control right now!"

"Shut up," Harry heard himself say, rising to his full height and marching so that he was face-to-face with Mrs. Black's Permanently Stuck portrait.

"WHAT?! HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME, YOU MISERABLE, LOUSY BLOOD TRA--"

Harry felt that he had heard that phrase one too many times.

"_I said shut up!!!_"

Magic swept through him, familiar and dangerous and nearly uncontrollable, and every emotion but disgust fled his mind. He was full, he was charged, he was enraged and powerful, and to show it he let out a rebellious yell, coupled with the background cries of companions trying once again to halt his temper. It seemed that nothing much had changed since last year after all.

"GET OUT OF SIRIUS'S HOUSE!!" Harry roared, and with his hands he seemed to _tear the portrait off the wall_, that Permanently Stuck portrait that had harassed the people in this house, and throw it fiercely at the far-away door; it _thud_ded hard, still sparking with the magic that had once protected it, and then went from shuddering to still.

And as the other six stared in a mixture of horror and wonder, Mrs. Black's shrill screams were silenced at last by this violent, thought-impossible move, and her power over them subsided with that former charm.

* * *

My Herculean effort of the day (or, rather, seven months) is complete.

* * *

Now to **Spell Definitions**...

_Adoperio_--Means "to cover or close".

_Abicio_--Means "to throw down or away". In poor Snape's case, of course, the spell was used in the _away_ fashion.

* * *

Thanks to everyone who loves my fic, new fans and old! Your patience is what keeps me going.

Kitsune: Especially those people who thought "AT LAST!!!!" the second this appeared in their Inbox.

I'm going to turn my music down and get back to work now. I have four _Lost Flash_ chapters to edit in the near future, and now two Deleted Scenes for Chapter Six! Busy, busy, busy!

Chapter Seven is called _"Let's Start Over..."_. Until then!


	7. Let's Start Over

A note before this chapter begins.

At this point in the story, things take a bit of a turn--that is, Harry no longer shields himself and his feelings from so many people. This chapter is his breakdown one--I'm sure my devoted followers have seen hundreds of these chapters--the awesome chapter _Catharsis_ from kittyrunner's _Time of Transition_ and Chapter Five of Alexannah's _Emeralds and Green Light_ come to my mind. _"Let's Start Over..."_ cannot top those chapters, but I will do my best to not have it sound **too** sappy. (shrugs shoulders)

From the end of this chapter and forward, Harry and Dumbledore will be forging a much closer bond than in previous chapters (and, counting canon, books). This will be evident after I reach what I call the "halfway" point in the chapter (page 200!) and cross over from Book Emerald to Book Sapphire--he'll be addressed, predictably, as 'Albus' unless someone else is talking about him, or it's from their P.O.V. and they don't happen to be on first-name terms with him. In addition, over the course of time, you will obviously see how fiercely protective of Harry the headmaster becomes, and how his emotions shift constantly because of it.

On a lighter note...it's a bit hard to keep track of an _owl_. Please forgive me if, in past and in future, Hedwig's location in reference to Harry seems to consistently change...?

There's some language, not only in the whole story, but in this chapter. Look out.

**Thank you so much to all my reviewers**, particularly at the moment to **RainPelt** who reviewed about a minute and a half after Chapter Six was posted the first time--but worry not, I love you _all_ the same! Hopefully by the time this is posted all those spelling and grammar errors will be gone.

I wonder if I can use Chapter Eight as hostage to all those people who are withholding other story chapters from me...?

Kitsune: Oh, _Valinor_...where _are_ you...? Element has grown so much over the year. She seems to grow with this little fic. Don't forsake it!

I. Do. Not. Own. Harry. Potter. Nope, not me.

* * *

**Chapter Seven:** "Let's Start Over..."

* * *

July's exodus following the will reading only became gloomier.

Harry moved his restored belongings (courtesy of Remus) out of the sick room he considered one of Sirius's and into another dusty, dry, unused room with no portraits on the walls or hidden packages intended for upcoming birthdays. Everyone but Hermione took this as a good sign: Tonks seemed cheerier, Andromeda was visibly relieved, and Ted Tonks, whenever he stopped by, declared that in no time at all "the boy'll be as happy and normal as I've never seen--under the circumstances, of course". The only people siding with Hermione (the Weasleys, Dumbledore and Remus) either weren't in the house often enough to dispute these claims--or they just weren't ever in the house.

As it turned out, Hermione's sole voice of protest came out as the bittersweet victor.

Harry was quiet for the first two days after the will reading--he did not leave his new room, refused meals, and always looked groggy and undone the few times he would concede to open the door for anyone--and yet not one occupant of the house had heard him cry, not even at night when some were awake longer than others.

So the house was eerily quiet for two days, where Harry spoke to no one in and out (Hedwig, getting no replies to the Weasleys' frequent, worried letters, flew off in a huff the second afternoon, leaving Harry lonelier than ever), and only Hermione paced and fretted, and wrote and cried and wrote....

And then Harry's feelings began to make themselves known. He screamed.

No, he didn't just scream. He cried, and he sobbed, and he yelled, and then he wailed and kicked the bed and walls and floor and would have kicked the ceiling if he could have managed it. He was shrill and hurting and thus dangerous--to the inside of his room. Only his new room was allowed the task of bearing his pain and guilt, his anger and anguish--for he still did not leave it (even seemed to imprison himself in it), nor was anyone else allowed in, seeing or otherwise. When Hermione tried to "_Alohomora_" the door open nothing happened; she concluded sadly that while they had explored the library together not so long ago, while wrapped up in Defense Against the Dark Arts books, Harry must have found a Locking Spell stronger than _Colloportus_, which he had so recently used at the Ministry. In near-despair, she spent a good deal of each scream-filled day far below in that same library looking for something--_anything_--that might help.

But even the huge present Sirius had left Hermione was no help. Tonks tried reasoning calmly with Harry; Andromeda made valiant, motherly efforts to break down the door and grieve with him; Ted tried yelling at him, goading him into being sensible--in his own defense, he didn't know how much of a nerve he touched, how furious Harry had been and could be about goading in regards to what Snape had done to Sirius--and he _certainly_ didn't know that the boy could destroy part of the bannister of the staircase without looking at or touching it. He still had a bandage covering the part of his forehead that had been smacked, so to lighten the now frequently-dim moods that would come over the inhabitants of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Andromeda would often gently kiss him there and remark on how dashing he looked with the scar.

The noise from Harry's room always began shrilly in the morning, was at a stable point in the afternoon, and then leapt between high and low in the evenings with no pauses in between--an all-out orchestra of sound. After a certain point in the night, his voice would finally begin to break, to falter, and it would go silent for the rest of the night.

Suffice to say that by the twenty-sixth of July, five days from Harry's sixteenth birthday, _everyone_ was looking and feeling exhausted--and who could blame them?

"Maybe it's just a combination of everything that's happened mixed with his own pent-up feelings," Remus suggested, having just gotten "off shift" and come to try and visit--the key word being "tried" in past tense. Part of his left eyebrow was still looking singed. "The will reading might have been the last straw--deciding to go, then having to deal with the Malfoys, who as good as killed Sirius, and then with Bellatrix Lestrange, who really _did_..." He trailed off for a moment. There was a familiar taste in his mouth: rage.

More softly he concluded, "I'd have gone off the edge too."

"Don't forget, Snape was there," Tonks reminded him, pushing back her curls--at last they had changed, fading to midnight-black. "There were too many nuts in the madhouse _that_ day, if you ask me."

"Let me remind you," Andromeda cut in, uncharacteristically testy, "that I used the services of that sole '_madhouse_' to put you through Auror Training _and_ your father through law school."

Tonks blushed and stayed quiet for a while.

"This is stupid of him," Alastor, or "Mad-Eye" Moody snarled, his magical eye spinning wildly, as if indignant. "Completely childish. This can't be _that_ devastating to him--not that he would get like--like--like **_this_**!"

Coldly, Remus shot back: "Apparently it _can_ be 'that' devastating, _Mad-Eye_." There was a growl lodged in his throat.

Mad-Eye turned to argue, and as he did he was caught in staring at the werewolf's forehead. "What the hell happened to your eyebrow?"

Wordlessly Remus pointed upstairs; then he raised the untouched eyebrow as if to say, _Is it childish _now_?_

Mad-Eye whistled. "Boy's got some power."

"You should see the staircase," Ted said cheerfully. "Or, rather, part of what's left of it."

"Speaking of the staircase..." Remus pricked his ears, recognizing the near-stillness and quickened breathing of an eavesdropper; thus, he raised his voice for her. "...You're welcome to come on down, Hermione."

The others stared at Remus as though he'd declared allegiance to Kreacher, but they were even further surprised when he was proved right; Hermione, looking worse than ever, trailed down the stairs holding a familiar fleshy-looking object.

"_Another_ Extendable Ear?" Tonks moaned. "I thought Molly got rid of them all!"

"I saved one," Hermione whispered, nearly inaudibly.

"A _what_?" Andromeda and Ted asked together.

"Eavesdropping devices made possible by Fred and George Weasley," Mad-Eye explained, dryly and simply.

"_Ah_..."

Remus said gently, "And why was that necessary to you?"

"Desperate times," she replied equally simply, sitting near them on one of the tall kitchen chairs. She winced as another scream rent the house's late-afternoon atmosphere.

"Have you been well?" Andromeda queried, voice soft.

Harry's screams suddenly died down to choked sobs--it took only a few moments before Hermione too was crying, her head bent, her newly-fixed hair hiding most of her tears.

"No," she managed brokenly, trying in vain to dry her face on her sleeve. "No, I haven't at all been well."

No one had anything useful to say to that.

"He won't talk to me," she moaned, rocking back and forth. Remus and Tonks tried to soothe her, but there would be none of that. "He's charmed the door shut with a spell I don't know of, and he won't even talk to me _through_ the door... he's broken things all over the house.... Oh, I just can't _stand_ it!"

As she rocked and sobbed, a wail was heard from upstairs, and a glass vase exploded outward with a CRACK-ing sound. Harry's own spirits had sunken even lower.

The adults looked to each other soberly. Nothing any of them had done (or would do) had even stirred Harry in the right direction--and if something wasn't done soon, they would all lose not only beautiful, precious Harry but the shaking Hermione and maybe even Ron and many others as well.

"Dumbledore," Mad-Eye Moody growled at last, breaking the oppressive silence. "We need Dumbledore."

There was no disagreement from Remus. "You're right--we need him here, _now_."

Andromeda groaned. "But _where is he_? We all know that he is so very needed these days--I haven't gotten a letter from him in _days_, not since the will reading!"

"He has just been busy," Ted softly consoled her. "As we all have been."

Moody grumbled, "We might not have needed Albus right now if a certain group of people I won't name had noticed the boy's obvious signs of depression _after_ ignoring warnings from a perfectly capable, very bright underage witch."

Remus and the Tonkses were up in arms.

"Now _look here_--"

"--have been by his side at every moment--"

"--_completely_ attentive, he never wanted for any--"

"--seemed fine overall--"

"You have _no right_, Alastor, I came as soon as I heard about Harry--"

"And will Dumbledore?" Mad-Eye shot back heatedly; he was not sorry in the slightest about what he'd said. "Sure, he'll drop everything if Potter happens to be in mortal peril--but, hell, I would too if I were him! --But, really, will he be prepared to put his busy schedule on hold for something like this? Will he pause in the middle of his misson to defeat that pureblood maniac simply because _Potter is sobbing the house down_?"

_Swish--CRACK!_

Hermione had stood up and charged across the length of the kitchen and slapped Mad-Eye Moody, none too gently, on one of his weathered cheeks. The room went dead quiet with apprehension and shock--the bright witch's face registered its own self-shock for mere seconds, but then an angry expression returned in full force.

"_Don't_--_you_--_dare_ insult Harry like that!"

"Hermione!"

Mad-Eye Moody appeared to be shaken. "Miss Granger--"

"Don't you 'Hermione' and 'Miss Granger' me, you--you--oh!!!! How _dare_ you criticize Professor Dumbledore like that, after all he's sacrificed, after all he's done to keep everyone alive, by saying he only responds to the _greatest need_! And you and I and Remus and everyone else has _no idea_ what it would be like to be Harry, not even for a day! With all of these horrid things happening around him, he feels like no one really wants to help him and that all of the horrible things that have occurred are--are **because** of him!" She choked back yet another sob. "He may not be letting me in to talk to him, but I can hear him in there, and I understand exactly why none of us have really slept in days!"

Moody's one true eye seemed to almost soften, surprising those watching--they shuddered to think of the results had someone _else_ slapped him. "It seems as if you know him quite well after all, Hermione."

(It occurred to Remus that Hermione might have actually moved up a rung in Moody's ladder of respect--by doing something no one else would have dared to do.)

She blushed at the outright accusation in an odd way, and said nothing for a few moments. Then: "I'm sorry I slapped you."

"Don't be. It's forgotten." Then his gentle, gruff tone became serious again. "And now that the stress level is down somewhat, can we continue? Does anyone else want a go?"

Their chuckles were quieter than they might have been. "Not at the moment, no."

"Good, then let's move one. Are we all agreed in this?"

"Definitely," Ted consented gravely, speaking for them all--his blue gaze took in Remus, looking wearier than ever; Moody, seeming both mollified and yet newly disgruntled about something; Hermione, still sniffling slightly in the farthest corner; his daughter, pale and unhappy-looking; and his wife, overly careworn and stressed out. "Professor Dumbledore is our only and last hope. If he can't bring Harry back, then the boy is lost to us."

* * *

He had dreamed all through these days, dreams that made him wake and shudder and scream, the noise muffled into his covers. They were not so much dreams, he reflected later, as parasitic visions, feeding off of his hopelessness, his lack of energy, and leaving him with more of the same.

On the silent days, just after the will reading, he had had back-to-back insights into Voldemort's mind: he had _been_ him again, relishing the torture of servants and innocent Muggles alike. Flashes from the first time caught his mind...

_"Stand, Dolohov, or I will leave you to die in this wretched place."_

Harry remembered twirling a yew wand in thin, stark-white fingers that were not his, remebered bouncing the Cruciatus Curse off the bars of his mysterious prison and his Death Eaters....

_"Bella! Lord Voldemort will show mercy. Leave the child."_

Harry remembered too the shock he had felt upon hearing this, and then the hope that that moment when their emotions had split had not been noticed by his enemy.

_"We are at last free. Free! There will be no second capture, fools, Lord Voldemort will make sure of it--the taste of freedom shall never sour."_

Free? But free from _where_? How could any place in the world--even Hogwarts--keep a fully-powered Voldemort caged like a songbird?

It nagged at him. _Freedom from _what_, Voldemort? Or who? Where have you been these past few weeks, where they can block our access to each other's minds and make _you_ writhe in pain? Where in the world have you _been_?_

The second time Harry saw into one of Voldemort's dreams, it contained more of the senseless violence he was used to glimpsing. It was another innocent Muggle family, a man and his two small children; Voldemort was torturing them for information, information on that strange object again...

_"The Flash. The Lost Flash. I want it. And I hear that you know of it?"_

The man's voice, he recalled, was gentle even in his frightened state, and remarkably steady. _"As a bedtime story, intruder. From my grandmother. We own nothing like a lost flash--the object is only myth, certainly not real."_

_"You are so calm,"_ Harry had mused thorough Voldemort. _"Why don't I see how calm you remain with a few torturing spells aimed to those pretty girls of yours?"_

_"No!"_

_"Daddy!"_ The older little girl had moaned, and then Harry had a sickening shiver fly though him when Voldemort had tortured the man, the father, in front of his own horrified little girls.... He had woken retching, shrieking to the empty room.

The other dreams did not involve himself and Voldemort (and so did not repulse him), but they were still confusing: he was beyond cold, subzero, yet still alive, beginning to think and know and feel. Soon he would breathe again, just as he had before... and then he would join his family, his people, his only ones in this world, the ones who now cured him, who brought him back...

If it wasn't so bad being practically, mysteriously on ice, Harry thought at the end of four days, profoundly miserable, then he thought he'd just love to trade places with that mystery person, and put himself on ice--forever.

* * *

Dumbledore arrived on the twenty-seventh, looking as polished as ever---robes of a deep vermillion that trailed to the floor, half-moon spectacles in their usual place, with eyes that today were not twinkling. He called "It is I" softly before striding into the Blacks' living room.

This polished look did not last for long. No sooner had he walked in than Hermione Granger launched herself into his arms and, without preamble, started to sob.

"Oh--oh, Professor, Professor, I'm so happy to finally see you!"

Startled, he patted her back without speaking, trying to soothe as quietly as possible--but on the inside he was dismayed. Was it really _Harry_ who had upset her so? What had been going on in this house while he was away, and oh, why hadn't he come _sooner_?

"Are you all right, my dear?"

She hiccoughed briefly. "I most certainly am not, Professor. Harry's been shut up in that room for five days, hours and hours, and he's been crying and screaming and destroying things...oh Professor, _please_ help us!"

Dumbledore stroked her hair, assuring her that he would indeed help, that all would soon be well. Hermione, however, was not in any state to be reassured--she cried helplessly into his robes, ignoring the arrival of Andromeda Tonks.

He himself started at the sight of her. Her dark curls were limp, her robes ragged and her eyes were lifeless. Somehow he managed to stammer: "You... you look like you've just been through a war."

"I have," she said bluntly. "And not the kind I'm used to. Whatever Muggle coined the phrase 'Silence speaks louder than words' was dead on, damn them."

Due to the situation, Dumbledore chose to ignore that last part. "Harry hasn't come out?"

"Not that we've seen. It's gotten to the point where I'm just waiting for the house to fly apart..." Pleadingly, after a long pause, she gestured to the girl holding him, adding, "She's been distraught for _days_, Albus."

"I can tell. --Where is Remus? And Ted--and Nymphadora?"

"Nymph's on duty at the Ministry; Ted's at home getting some sleep--and I don't know where Remus is. It's just been us today."

Hermione had stopped crying by this time--Dumbledore felt her manually steady her breathing, and when he soothingly spoke her name she relaxed, still hiccoughing, into a gentler grip on him.

"Thank you."

He nodded at the girl, quietly. Already exhausted, he rubbed his temple before turning to the Tonks matron for advice.

"Andromeda...whatever am I supposed to do _now_?"

"Harry is waiting for you," she replied, still blunt, gesturing to the stairs.

Dumbledore felt a surge of panic race through him. "I--what--_now_? Andromeda, you must see that--hardly the right time for--I am hardly experienced in this sort of thing--if I were to be turned away--"

She moved toward him gradually, first taking Hermione out of his arms and placing her on the couch and then looking him directly in the eyes, hazel to blue. "I think that you have just showed me your experience with this little one." Then she came back to him, moved closer, put her hand on the place where his heart would be. "And, anyway, you only need what you've already got--in _here_. I don't think he'd ever turn you away."

She tapped the spot, and Dumbledore turned away to cry.

* * *

There was a storm raging inside of Harry's body, ravaging his mind and tearing into his heart, and he was not sure anybody could stop it. It screamed inside of his head, painfuly constricting, harsh as any mental reminder of his onw inadequacy that he could have conjured. After a while, it hurt to breathe; after that it didn't matter. After Sirius, nothing else _could_ matter, _would_ matter.

Cedric's death alone had been bad enough, but his _and_ Sirius's _and_ his parents'...it was too much, too much to _not_ cry for, to not respect, to not honor by screaming and breaking things and making no sense in the head, as he was now...

_I'm a weapon,_ Harry told himself, through choked-back sobs. _I'm supposed to destroy Voldemort or go down. Either way, I'll see Sirius...I _will_ see him...and Cedric...and my parents...soon. I'll get to say everything I didn't get to say before...that I love them...that I'm sorry I'm such a failure...that it doesn't matter anymore, because we're together..._

And then Albus Dumbledore swept into the room, closing the door behind him, and everything spun out of control.

* * *

Neither of them knew quite what to say. In the silence, both of them seemed more defined than ever: Dumbledore in his finery, face old and lined with weariness and longing, and Harry in his tearstained clothes, at melting point, face lined with loneliness and near-agony and that same longing--each wanting deep down to belong to the other, but both not sure how exactly to make that happen.

Dumbledore took the liberty of speaking first. "Harry."

"Professor Dumbledore." His voice shook, and he could not now stand the presence of another lost soul in his sanctuary. His voice hardened slightly; he wanted to play a game, as he had with Bellatrix at Gringotts. "That was how we first addressed each other, thought of each other, wasn't it? We should just go way back to that--it was simpler then, easier."

"...Are you all right?"

"What? Why _shouldn't_ I be?"

Frustration flickered across Dumbledore's face, along with the quickly-masked beginnings of despair. "Harry, please do not do this."

"Do _what_? Make everything right again? Go back? Fix everything? Oh, I'd _love_ to be able to."

"There is no going back," the older one said quietly. "You and I--we--can only move forward. And I...would prefer that we do so together."

"_Move forward?_"

Dumbledore flinched at the boy's volume.

"Sirius is **_gone_**! First my parents, then Cedric, now Sirius.... I'm not going forward. I refuse. I'll never leave this place. You want to move forward, go on your own--get _out_!"

Dumbledore flinched again, more noticably, but did not move.

"I would never abandon you, Harry."

"Never say never."

"_Never_," Dumbledore stressed more firmly; then his blue eyes, seeming to catch something, roved over Harry's green ones.

"You have been crying. Extensively."

"It shouldn't matter to _you_."

"It does. ...There are shadows under your eyes. You're trembling, although the room is not cold and no one has hurt you...and this room..."

He paused to take it all in. The curtains and covers had been somehow torn to shreds; pillows lay on the floor, some oozing feathers and others merely neglected; ripped parchment was strewn across the floor; and the windows and doorknob rattled frequently, signs of Harry's emotions barely being kept at bay.

Which was exactly _not_ what Dumbledore wanted to have happening.

"It shouldn't," Harry repeated angrily, voice going shrill, "_matter_ to you!"

"It _should_, and it _does_." The frustration in Dumbledore's eyes was now evident in his voice, along with a definite, non-hidden sense of despair. "Harry..._god_, Harry...how can I help you? How many times and ways must I tell you that I care for you? How can I say what I feel when you push me away? I want to guide you through your pain, little one. I want to be able to protect you and show that I care deeply for you. Let me _help_ you--please?"

Pain scratched at Harry's chest, dug further in.

"You can't. I don't want you to do any of those things. Now, _please_, just go away!"

"But--"

Harry's voice went from shrill to critical volume.

"_**Get out, I said**!!!_ I don't need you here, I don't want you here--all I want right now is to be left alone!"

"Harry, please--"

"_I get it, all right?_ It comes down to me or Voldemort! And Sirius died, Cedric died, _my parents died_ because I didn't realize that sooner--and because _I_ was stupid, because _I_ was weak, because _I_ was vulnerable in all the wrong ways! Voldemort took advantage of me! _I understand, for Merlin's sake!_"

The other's eyes widened; sadly, he moved forward, shaking his head in gentle denial. "Oh, Harry, no.... No, no, no. Tell me you do not believe that--none of it is true, and I thought you would know that better than most."

"_Leave me alone!_" Harry yelled, and nearby a pot shattered from the force of his emotions. "Stop bothering me about this! I know what I'm supposed to do, destined to do--kill Voldemort! But _I'm not ready at the moment_, okay? Believe me, when I am, I'll get rid of him and you'll never have to spare a thought for me again--"

Power in its purest form headed his way threw him back onto the disheveled bed. Dumbledore was angry, angrier than Harry had ever seen him become, and he could not stop him, couldn't stop that controlled magic, that powerfully firm expression...

"Stay," he growled threateningly, beginning to pace, and Harry felt the magic loosen its hold around him. Despite his odd fury, Dumbledore was _still_ trusting of him.

"Sir, it's **_true_**, everything I said is true, I--"

"_Stop._"

Harry, now trembling violently, swallowed a sob. At the sound, some of Dumbledore's sternness and self-fury melted; he could not help it.

_All right. Take a breath. You're frightening him. Slow down and let him trust you again._

"First of all... you are _not_ stupid, or weak, and you are _certainly_ not vulnerable! You are a brave, quiet, talented young man who has gone through things...things that no one your age should have to go through, to see, to experience in the ways you have. Second--you are special. To your friends, to your family...to me." He took a deep breath, and his shoulders sank momentarily before he straightened again. "Third...your loved ones did not die _because_ of you, little one. They died _for_ you, to protect you."

"Not Cedric," Harry whispered, bitterly.

"Even Cedric," Dumbledore assured gently. "How do you know that his last thoughts, noble as the boy was, were not of protecting you? Cedric had come to deeply like and respect you.

"And fourth--you are no weapon. How could a weapon and its friends protect the Sorceror's Stone? How could a weapon summon a Patronus to fend off over a hundred dementors while protecting its friend and newly-found godfather?"

"But--" Harry stammered.

"No, Harry. Who led a team of well-qualified students to a place you'd deduced was real, to try and rescue that same godfather? You, Harry, are _magnificent_--to say the least. That is why you will live an extraordinary, full, happy life--where Lord Voldemort will be a mere stone in your path--it is why I will _always_ care about you, whether you want me to or not.... And it is why I respect your opinion, your wishes, and your right to be listened to, in a way I have previously neglected to do. If you truly wish that I leave you alone--if you really do not want my company... I will leave you."

Aching inside, Dumbledore turned to leave the room; but a low moan had him nearly tripping over his own feet as he turned around to find the sole source of the noise. Harry, emerald eyes overbright, was at the edge of the bed, gazing imploringly at him.

"Please, don't leave," he gasped, nearly begging; if Dumbledore of all people gave up on him, he would see no further reason to fight. "Don't leave me...not like _they_ did..."

"What do you mean?" His blue eyes bored into the boy, anxiously.

"_Them!_ Sirius...and Cedric...and my parents...all gone, all gone. Don't leave me--_alone_--like they did...please..." He started to cry; it was a quiet, heartbreaking sound.

It stopped Dumbledore completely, mind and soul and body; starting to cry a little himself, he held out his arms to the boy, coaxing him across the room. _How could he have missed this?_

"Harry...! Oh, baby--oh, my little one--come here..."

Harry's cries grew to be harsh sobs. "God...why d-does this..._happen_ to me? What h-have I _d-done_ to deserve this? I _h-hate_ not having Sirius...and my mum...and dad..."

"_Harry_," the other breathed softly, eyes softening in pity.

"W-why _me_?" the boy whimpered. "Why was _I_ chosen...?"

"I know how you feel." Dumbledore's voice was low, quiet, soothing. "And there is nothing I can do to change what has already occurred...much as I wish I could...so, come.... Come to me now...let me hold you..."

Harry flew into Dumbledore's outstreched arms and collapsed with long-overdue tears--at last, at last, everything had come to a head. There was no longer any going back.

"That's right," Dumbledore crooned, his hands securing themselves around Harry's waist, stroking gently up his back, then down. "Tell me everything...let it all out...talk to me, Harry..."

But Harry was lost. For him there was only pain, sadness, guilt, despair, darkness... his cries echoed through the room, were silenced by both his head in Dumbledore's bright robes and the silencing spell the man whispered over his hair. Time seemed to slow down--there were only Harry's hitched, moaning sobs, his shaking limbs and deep sense of heartbreak coupled with the total loss of his innocence, and Dumbledore's low, soothing noises, his soft murmurs of reassurance and comfort and mere _presence_, and his physical guiding of Harry to the bed. Dumbledore sat, quite far back, and pulled the sobbing boy into his lap.

Harry choked, gasping for breath, and instsantly felt Dumbledore's hand, and those long, steady fingers, rub across him, then back, across, then back, in a way that stretched on forever and a day in his mixed-up thoughts. Tears found their way onto Dumbledore's robes--Harry tried over and over and over, but his breath would _not_ steady...

"Little one, please relax," Dumbledore pleaded, voice still gentle.

"I _c-c-can't_...Sirius...I..."

"I know, little one. I know how you are feeling. I know that it hurts to be reminded, every moment of every day, that he is gone...I know you felt powerless to stop him then. I watche dyou that night and felt my own heart break. I cannot replace Sirius, Harry...but I want to know you as he did."

There could _be_ no relief, no joy, no knowing, because Sirius was gone, and there was no bringing him back, no more talking to him, no more going places with him... Merlin, why _was_ his life so cruel?

"Talk to me, Harry," Dumbledore coaxed, blue eyes watering--a tear dropped onto Harry's forehead, causing another sob to rack his body. "Talk to me. Please. Let me know you as Sirius did."

"But you _do_ know," Harry moaned, and he sat up, gripping the other's robes in one pale hand. "You _know_ me, have know me for years before I can even remember, but Sirius wasn't so lucky... he didn't get to... and now he's _gone_--" His voice rose to a howl. "_It's not fair!_"

"Yes, child. It isn't."

"Wh-why him? Why n-not someone else? Wh-why not Bellatrix Lestrange? Why _him?_"

"I know that you did not mean that," Dumbledore whispered, and he pressed a kiss to Harry's closer head of dark hair. "We will have to talk about Bellatrix later, but _you_ are _now_, and I sincerely hope that you will not wish death on others. To do so makes you one of the death bringers."

Harry did not flinch. To deny comfort and affection after craving them for so long would _really_ make him stupid. But he protested something else. "But...Wormtail betrayed us...what are we s-supposed to d-do, let him r-run free...?"

He felt Dumbledore tighten against him, heard his breath hiss out of him--the name had disturbed his serenity. "Well... we _all_ have weakened morals where he is concerned."

Now they were both distinctly ruffled by emotion--Harry by burning grief, and Dumbledore by suppressed anger. Wormtail remained on both minds for a while longer, before Harry murmured brokenly, "If it h-hadn't b-been for Wormtail, Sirius would've b-been free now..."

Dumbledore pulled him into a closer hug, both kissing his ear and replying into it. "He _is_ free now, Harry."

Their combined grief (Harry's for Sirius, and Dumbledore's for him) went on for hours, on and on until night darkened the atmosphere around them. Harry pressed his cheek into Dumbledore's silver beard, and the latter whispered nonsense into the boy's ear, hoping to calm him; he pressed his lips gently to both Harry's forehead and his cheek--and at last the boy's breathing and sobbing started to break off and calm.

"Yes, good.... It is dangerous for you to be so overexcited for so long."

It was, but no longer--Harry's breathing and thoughts, so easily racing moments ago, had relaxed into a steady quiet, with only his heart pounding out that same panicky rhythm--it probably would for several days past now. His grief was dissipating, starting with the large bit he'd cried out today and, hopefully, continuing on in the future...

_I've never cried as much as I did today._ Nor, he realized, as he felt Dumbledore stroke his hair, had he ever felt as safe and comforted and...and _accepted_.

_Maybe one day, I'll wake up and not be crushed by Sirius's memory, and Cedric's, and my parents'.... But when will that day come, I wonder?_

He yawned. Immediately Dumbledore was asking gently, "Are you sleepy?"

"A little." Harry yawned again, felt suddenly exhausted, spent for the day. "Okay, a _lot_...maybe I'll g-go to sl-sleep for a while..." He paused, realized that he was not considering the one who had just soothed the greatest part of his grief, who had assured him that one day everything would not seem as bad as it did. "Erm...Professor--"

"Albus."

He was thrown. "Wha...?"

"We have never been exactly, or any less than, professor and pupil: I will no longer deny that. So, you are _Harry_, and I am _Albus_."

Green eyes blinked at blue. _He's serious._ His eyes were twinkling like mad, but he was quite serious.

"I..." Luckily he was cut off by a yawn, because nothing to say had come to mind.

"You'll get used to it," Dumbledore--_no, _Albus--assured him, softly.

They lapsed into silence, with Harry nuzzling into Dumbledore's silver beard as a small child might, and Dumbledore blowing lightly over the boy's untidy hair, occasionally sliding his hand gently through it.

Occasionally, sporadically, conversation slipped into the quiet room.

"You denied our relationship?"

Dumbledore's--Albus's--eyes widened. "Harry, I didn't mean _that_! --I was afraid to acknowledge that our relationship had become more than it was supposed to be; I feard it would hurt you in some way, and perhaps I also feared that it would hurt me. Last year, to my mind, took my fear and blew it into sight at last. I was a fool, Harry...you know that."

"You weren't. You knew that anyone getting close to me might tip Voldemort off--"

"No," Dumbledore moaned into Harry's hair. "No, no, _no_--I knew that if _I_ got close, he might hurt you, or try and use your pain to hurt me--and yet, now, I am overjoyed that my heart decided to betray me nearly sixteen years ago."

Harry hiccoughed softly and silence fell again. After a few moments, the other spoke.

"Harry, may I stay?"

He laid down on the bed, pulling Dumbledore with him--without the old man, without his mentor near, he would come apart.

"Please do. _Promise_ you will."

"I promise." Dumbledore flicked his wand. "_Induco_."

The discarded cover flew up, shook itself, and immediately settled over and around them, like a blanket; Harry gasped, feeling an unexpected warmth accompanying it as well.

With a soft "_Reparo_", two pillows put themselves back together and then settled underneath them--Harry's eyes started to close, and he could not stay awake no matter how much he blinked and struggled...

"We will make do for tonight, Harry," Dumbledore assured him. "For now, don't fight... just go to sleep. You will need to rest after letting so much emotion loose--_especially_ tonight."

"I'm afraid to close my eyes," Harry admitted in a whisper. "I still want to see you."

"You will, little one. In the morning, when you're _rested_."

Harry tried to protest, but Dumbledore--Albus--wrestled him down with uncommon strength and held him fast until he was laughing through his drowsiness, through his overall exhaustion.

"Are you asleep _now_?" Dumbledore teased him.

"No--uncomfortable--let _go_--Professor--Profes--all right, _Albus!!!_"

The headmaster relaxed. "Ah..._now_ I can sleep."

They settled down then, and at last Harry closed his eyes and started to breathe evenly, getting the sleep he had not gotten in over a week. Meanwhile, Albus let his hands stroke comfortingly over Harry's back--then, jolting, remembering something he had forgotten, he began to gently shake the boy.

"Harry--wake up--come on, only for a moment--"

"Hunh..." Harry stirred again. " 'S it morning already?"

Albus laughed. "No, little one, not quite yet. I just wanted.... I love you, Harry, my child. I wanted you to know."

Harry felt his face burn and his eyes go wet; he nuzzled closer, pressing a kiss of his own to Albus's weathered cheek before lying back down again, trying to control his newly-overcome, thundering emotions.

"Harry?"

"No one's _ever_ told me that before," he whispered, and pressed his face into the pillows.

Albus continued to stroke the trembling boy; he leaned down to murmur tenderly: "And now, little one, you have heard it.... Sleep well."

He gazed around the room, magically drawing the curtains together and loosening the _Muffliato_ spell that had encompassed the room during his child's grief. Then, satisfied that all was well for the night, he turned to the soft lamps barely glowing in the corners, whispered: "_Obscuro_."

The lamps dimmed gently, then winked out one by one.

* * *

Harry woke up laughing in the middle of the morning.

Albus was tickling him senseless. He had not realized it at first, upon his first waking moments--and once the tickling sensation had set in, it had taken him several precious seconds to identify his tormentor.

"Wha--ha--ha--no--no--please--god--get off--tickles--_Albus_--stop!!!"

Albus smiled mischievously--for the first time Harry could particularly remember, his blue eyes were twinkling behind the half-moon spectacles had had already donned. And he was _still_ tickling the boy. "Good morning, Harry. Did you sleep well last night?"

"Well--yes--I--ha--ha--**_stop_**--oh, Albus, I--can't--_speak_."

Slowly, gradually, Albus ceased his form of torture--but his expression was very obviously rueful. "I'm glad to hear it. You certainly _looked_ peaceful. ...There were no nightmares, were there?"

Harry was a little surprised at the anxiety embedded in the other's voice. "I...no, not last night. There were some dreams from Voldemort's side a couple of nights ago, but..."

"What?! --Harry, tell me everything you remember."

_Same old, same old_, Harry found himself thinking--until Albus shifted to hold him, and he found that he was cradled against the man's vermillion robes from the day and evening before.

"What--I don't--?"

"Harry, _Harry_," Albus chided, his hand once again ruffling the boy's hair, "have you forgotten already? I am making an effort to become closer to you. I would like it if you did the same, if we talked to each other more often, if we had a very close-knit realtionship. ...Or would you not like that after all?"

"No, no," Harry replied hastily, shaking his head into the bright robes, feeling again the warmth of being protected. "I was just...confused."

"We all are, sometimes." He heard Albus sigh against him, then felt him rapidly become more cheerful; as if he was afraid that his sadness would be catching. "Now, if you don't mind reliving some of your dreams for me, I would greatly appreciate it...you've been alone with them all for too long..."

* * *

"...and then the cold sort of started to fade, and I woke up."

Albus had been watching Harry as he had reached back into his memory, one hand still resting protectively in his hair. His expression now became one of curiosity. "What do you think you saw in the last two dreams, little one?"

"I really don't know." Actually he had a bit of a crazy idea coming to mind, but it might involve betraying someone he needed--if they drew away, Voldemort would gain the upper hand without even realizing it.

Yet he was torn. He didn't want to keep secrets from Albus, especially not now--his darkest fear was still that one wrong move of his, one wrong word, might ruin everything.

Albus seemed to detect the torn nature of his emotions. "Harry...is there something you would like to tell me?"

_There's something I'd _like_ to tell you,_ Harry thought miserably. They had decided earlier that their "major talks" would come gradually, when _he_ was ready (unless under other circumstances); and though he longed to file this there, a friend's tortured face hovered always in his uppermost thoughts.

"I...I _want_ to, but.... Albus, I have a question."

"Fire away."

"--If I had to keep a secret from you...a secret that, if I told it, might make Voldemort stronger and betray a friend, too... would you let me?"

_Would I?_

The question stopped Albus in his tracks. He would, of course, be hurt knowing that Harry was keeping something, _anything_, from him...but then again...on such stakes as he was suggesting... and knowing that it was _Harry's_ decision when it came down to it...

"Yes," he replied, quietly. "I would let you keep it."

Harry visibly deflated with relief--with a whispered "_Thank_ you" to show his true gratitude.

"You don't have to thank me, little one. I trust you. ...Now, is there anything else you would like to tell me that might throw me off track? I am already braced."

He smiled weakly. "Actually--er--a few things: I'm afraid I'll have to shave soon and I'm not fond of blades; I think I'm about to be sixteen in a few days; and--er--I think I've scared away all of my friends, staying in here."

Albus laughed, and adpoted a mockingly serious expression. "Ah well... I think I can help with the last two. But you are on your own with shaving, I'm afraid." He stroked his silver beard fondly as Harry exploded with laughter for the first time in a long time (not counting last night, of course, which felt confusing in the light of day).

"Albus! Did you _ever_ shave when you were younger?"

"I tried," the other chuckled, "but it always grew back after--and then it was longer! By the time I had fully realized that, it was a bit too late..."

Harry grinned.

"Enough of that for now. Are you hungry?"

"A little," the boy admitted. "What time is it?"

Pulling his watch from his robes, Albus glanced only slightly at the moving planets. "About a quarter after ten. An acceptable time for taking care of the problem with your friends, I believe, and catching a late breakfast as well."

Harry had no problem with either--that is, until he tried to get out of bed and walk across the room but tripped halfway, nearly falling.

He yelped--next second he was in Albus's arms, being coaxed backward to the bed.

"Easy, little one. You are unsteady. I assume you spent most of your time in here off of your feet?'

Blushing, Harry nodded.

"In that case--perhaps I should give your friends a message?"

He nodded again. "I'd like that."

Albus's smile was doting. "I'll bring breakfast as well. What would you like me to tell the others?"

Harry thought hard--his mind had been partly on them since he'd woken and settled. Moody's growls, Remus's pleas, Hermione's sobs. "Just... tell them that I'm still thinking about Sirius... but that I'm okay... and that I love them."

The smile widened, showing fully now in that brilliant silver beard. "I'll tell them, Harry. ...Would you like anything else?"

Harry held out his arms. Eyes wide in understanding, Albus went to him and hugged him--firmly and gently, protectively and soothingly. Harry pressed closer, searching for something he couldn't really name; Albus let his head rest in Harry's hair, his breathing quickening as he thought of all the threats aimed toward this child as this very moment... _his_ child...

"Don't...ever doubt that I love you, little one."

"I love you, too," Harry murmured into his protector's closest ear; he knew he had been heard when he felt a violent shiver go through the old man. "I do... And I'm sorry...that I made you wait to hear it."

"I should have known." Albus kissed the boy's hair again, aware in his heart that his greatest want was coming true all at once. "I won't make that mistake again. ...I will be right back, little one."

Harry felt Albus pull gently away from him, sighing, and wondered if anyone else in the entire world had been so lucky as to be loved by his headmaster.

* * *

When Albus arrived in the kitchen, it was completely full--Tonks was snoring at one end of the kitchen counter, Hermione was demurely eating a bowl of cereal at the other, and Andromeda Tonks was fighting Remus Lupin over who was going to cook breakfast for Harry.

"For heaven's _sake_, Remus, I _said_ I'd be making omelettes this morning! You wouldn't know Muggle cuisine if it came up from behind and hit you in the--"

Remus snorted. "Now _that_ is just uncalled for. And, besides, just because I happen to be _male_ does not mean I can't cook. Sirius--" Surprisingly, he managed to say the name without choking.

Andromeda cut him off. "Remus, I loved my cousin just as much as you, so I think we can both agree that Sirius rarely cooked. Rarely. _Ever_. His health, or, rather, lack thereof, was proof of that."

"So--what, you think _Kreacher_ consented to make him food _every day_?"

"Ahem."

They both turned. Albus was smiling at them from the foot of the stairs.

"Albus!"

"Professor! I--we--were just--"

But they were drowned by Hermione's cry of joy.

"Professor Dumbledore! Oh my goodness--you look--does this mean--what happened? Where is Harry?"

"Harry is upstairs resting," Albus replied, smiling at her anxiety. "He can't come down for breakfast just now, but he asked me to tell you that he is still thinking about and missing Sirius--but that he is all right, and loves you."

For the first time in a long while, Hermione smiled; then, unexpectedly, she burst into tears and rushed once again into Albus's arms.

Laughing, he remarked, "Miss Granger, I'm afraid that I am much too tired to fix anything else that may be upsetting you."

She giggled in a half-hysterical way, but her questions poured in all through the laugh, ending with: "He's really okay? He's just fine?"

"Harry is not _completely_ fine." As Remus looked up sharply, panic in his eyes, Albus quickly amended this. "He has been seriously wounded by what has happened, and will recover slowly, and in the end not all of the hurts caused by Sirius's death will ever heal. But I have confidence that one day soon he will be our Harry again."

"...That's good," Hermione sighed, and gently disentangled herself from him, returning almost casually to her cereal as though she had not been desperately worried about a close friend moments before. But her cloud-gray eyes betrayed her true feelings. "That's really _good_."

Andromeda was equally overjoyed; breakfast forgotten for the moment, she removed her hair tie, letting her midnight-colored locks fall free. "I'm so **_relieved_**! He'd been so uncommunicative, like an Imperius Curse victim, or a zombie, or one of the Azkaban inmates--I couldn't at all get through to him."

"I put too much on you," Albus murmured gently, head bowed in shame.

She shook her head. "I went into all of it wrong--I tried to help _him_ the wrong way. He acted like all was well, like nothing was wrong, and I believed him."

"He is quite good at that." Remus turned to the headmaster. "How did you manage to calm him after almost a straight week of his grief?"

Albus said solemnly, "I have not calmed him completely, and wonder if I ever will. ...Now, if you would excuse me...he requested breakfast, and I will not keep him waiting."

* * *

It was despicable of him, especially after Albus had made it himself, but Harry just couldn't eat. He struggled to take in a little, found it good and wanted to continue, but most of his appetite had been wiped away after he'd woken up. It made him feel stupid, worthless, insensitive--but he couldn't help himself.

"Not hungry after all?" Albus's voice was unbelievably gentle.

Harry blushed. "I thought I was, but I really can't eat right now. I don't feel like it. I'm sorry--"

"Don't apologize. To be honest, I would have been surprised if you were hungry so soon after yesterday's breakdown, though I've no doubt you'll be starving soon." Albus pulled out his wand and flicked it, and the dishes vanished in a flash. The doting smile returned to his face. "It's still relatively early in the day, Harry; how about I take you somewhere?"

The idea brightened Harry's thoughts instantly. "Of course, sir, I--"

Abruptly, he stopped cold; something had just occured to him.

"You're not telling me something."

Albus, who had been getting ready to question Harry's train of thought, instead went faintly pink.

"What? --I..."

"Albus. What are you not telling me? Please."

The headmaster, to Harry's mind, seemed to wage a private war--his silver brows creased, his blue eyes dark and distant, he said nothing for several moments. Finally, though, he sighed and thus seemed to return to himself: his shoulders squared and he turned back to face the boy.

"I found out downstairs, quite by accident. I did not--do not--want to tell you--it did not seem fitting."

"Whatever it is," Harry said stubbornly, resolutely, "does Hermione know?"

The question truly puzzled Albus at first--then, getting its meaning, he nodded, resignedly.

"If she knows," Harry said now in a rather final sort of way, "I want to know, too."

His green eyes stared straight into Albus's blue ones, and in an odd way they seemed to communicate without speaking aloud for several moments:

_The knowledge has hurt her._

_I don't care. I want to know--at least so we'll know together, so I can help._

_Harry, I _mustn't_..._

_You have to! I can't let Hermione suffer alone--_

Albus broke their eye contact first and spoke aloud, a little stunned at what had just occured.

"I did not want to tell you, Harry, because I feared that the knowledge would make you feel the **_opposite_** of suffering." He took in a deep breath and said softly, "Kreacher is dead, Harry."

Shock twisted and squirmed in Harry's stomach--he was sure he had not heard right, was hallucinating due to lack of eating (which was entirely possible, after all). Kreacher, the Blacks' house-elf? Harry hated him beyond words for his role in Sirius's death, but that same word applied to Kreacher...so soon after...

"Wh-what? Y-you don't mean--"

Albus shook his head. "He is gone, little one."

"Kreacher's...he's gone? But how--how did it happen?"

But no matter how many times Harry rephrased this question, Albus would not answer it.

He changed tack. "_That's_ why Hermione's so upset?"

"Partly, yes. Though Kreacher obviously disliked her, he was another downtrodden house-elf in her eyes, and both your isolation and then his death greatly wounded her spirit."

Harry let silence reign between them as he pondered over this for a while. He was not quite sure, for the longest time, of how to treat Kreacher's death--he was certainly not feeling the opposite of suffering, but nor was he anywhere near the mortal pain he still acquainted with Sirius. He sensed a gentle tickle at the edges of his mind, so jumpy from fending off Voldemort's new attacks, and out of the corner of his eye saw Albus gazing at him with something deeper than anxiety, more complex.... In the end, he decided he would treat this as he would have had Dobby the house-elf died--a sickening thought indeed.

He finally said softly: "I'd appreciate it if you really _could_ take me somewhere."

The smile, without pause, returned once again to Albus's face--and both that and the twinkle in his eyes became mischievous once again, as it had been when he had woken Harry a short while ago. "I would like that very much as well, Harry--and so I shall. ...Now, the place of my choosing may be a bit morbid to your tastes, and we shall have to sneak past your erstwhile caretakers...you don't terribly mind?"

"Not at all," Harry replied promptly; rather, he was quivering with excitement.

"Excellent! Then rest up now, and later in the evening we shall put your skills at stealth to the test."

Harry let childish worry cross his face and voice, lightly masked. "And where will you be while I'm resting?"

Albus glided closer to him, magicked a chair into existence, and sank into it, reaching out to hold Harry's closest hand. "Right here, of course," he murmured lightly, playing with the boy's fingers as one would a child's. "Unless you aren't very sleepy?"

Harry smiled. "Not so much, really. So, er..." He pondered only a few seconds before an idea came to him. "...How about a game of Exploding Snap?"

* * *

"Even quieter, Harry," Albus warned him, motioning and drawing his attention to Tonks--she was still asleep, but to their misfortune, she had moved to the living room couch.

"I _can't_," was Harry's desperate whisper; he was quite nervous. "I don't remember which of these last stairs creaks if you step on it in the wrong place!"

"Then jump, and let me catch you."

Harry hesitated, but only for a moment--then he leapt off the stairwell and into Albus's arms. He gasped softly, both at the sharp impact and the concept of being held so securely. Albus had tightened his grip at first, but once Tonks showed no sign of waking he relaxed and set Harry down next to him. _Safe,_ he mouthed, smiling.

_Yes!_ Harry grinned back, and they slipped out with no portrait to traitorously alert the others in the house. The door had shut softly behind them and they were several feet away before Albus let Harry give a victory whoop.

"_Finally!_ Fresh air, the outside, no obligations..." He glanced quickly at his serene companion. "You're not having me on?"

Albus twirled a lock of his long silver hair. Softly he replied, "I have never _wanted_ to trap you anywhere. Circumstances have just...demanded it."

"You won't drag me back? Because it's 'safer'?"

The twinkle brightened. "Not at all. You are safest with me, and I with you. Do you trust me?"

"Of course!" Harry's reply was automatic.

To his surprise, Albus seemed to deflate at his response. "I will have to show you otherwise. Blind trust can be dangerous, especially when we are starting our relationship anew... But enough of that. We must Apparate to where I wish us to go, Harry, so hold on to me..."

Harry immediately went to him and gripped him tightly. "But--Albus, I've never..."

"Apparated?" Albus's voice was still light, gentle. "Yes, I know. That is why you must hold on tightly... you see, Side-Along Apparation can be very uncomfortable the first few times around."

It occured to Harry that Albus was showing signs of anxiety; his fingers twitched nervously, his eyes dimmed and flickered. A sense of sadness overtook him whenhe realized that his headmaster was worried about the journey ahead. Resignedly, he offered, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere today. If it's really too dangerous..."

"No, no." Albus shook his head. "I will take you--I am simply trying to concentrate. I fear losing my hold on you in transition...even I might not find you if that happened, unless I placed a Tracing Spell on you--but others might be able to follow it to you as well, and faster than I, particularly Voldemort--"

Harry surprised him by pressing closer, resting his hair in the long beard; such indecision was not helping them. "I'll be fine. I won't let go of you, I swear. ...Now, do _you_ trust _me?_"

Albus started to laugh very suddenly; he cried "Hold on, then!" and twisted 'round, vanishing--Harry waited for the loud _CRACK_, realized he was alone, and had just started to panic when he felt something warm grip his arm and pull firmly--

Albus's hand--

He thought he heard the _crack_ behind him, faintly, but then he was consumed by darkness; air seemed to press in on him, constricting his breathing, pulling him through a tight space; he wanted to scream but had no breath left to try, and his eyesight dimmed, dimmed--

The scent of flowers tickled his nose, and he seemed to emerge then from darkness and land in Albus's waiting arms.

"_Harry!_ Are you all right? Were you hurt? I thought for a moment that I'd lost you. Was it rough for you? Oh, Harry--"

"I'm fine!" Harry was reduced to blushing as Albus inspected him from head to toe, ignoring his weakened protests (the trip really _had_ taken a little out of him); he had not imagined something like _this_ being part of their new connection, and it unsettled him. He was used to taking care of himself by now. "I'm all right, really... it was a little tight in the middle, but otherwise I'm okay--I promise!"

Albus backed off reluctantly. "Are you sure?"

"I'm positive," Harry assured him again. "I felt you holding me the whole time." He knew telling Albus this would make him relax, and so it did. For the most part, he really _had_ sensed him...

"All right.... In that case, let us walk. Our destination is near."

He looked around for the first time, puzzled: _morbid _did not exactly describe a mostly-grassy field full of sweet-smelling flowers and small animals which overlooked a smaller (if possible), bustling town below.

"I thought you said...?"

"Did I? ...I did, yes. Well, that is because of what is here, Harry...what the sweetness hides."

_Now I'm _really _curious_.

A bout of scar pain raced through him, leaving him suddenly trembling--he swayed precariously, and Albus turned the moment he heard the boy take a sharp, painful breath.

"Are you--?"

"Yes," Harry said, albeit in a more strained tone. "He's angry...angry because something's confusing him...eluding him...that's all."

Albus said nothing, but he wrapped one arm around Harry's shoulders as they walked slightly uphill toward a bare patch in the wide field. It comforted him, he realized, to be so protected, and he dwelled on how safe he felt as they approached and finally reached the sole bare spot in the field.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck prickled, stood. "Where...are we?"

The spot unnerved him. In addition to looking as though all the grass had been magically swept away, the dirt left was clean, with no telltale insect holes or other usual signs of life; it too was clear, padded, soft, fresh. A light, glowing inscription was the only thing there--he squinted, but could not read it standing up.

Albus's breathing was warm on Harry's ear. "This, little one, is Kreacher's grave."

_Oh._

He stared at it, feeling the beginnings of sickness--a different kind than the one which currently kept him in bed. A _grave_? How bare and empty it was! There was nothing about the house-elf's life, no symbols, no indicators of who he was or might have been. For the first time, Harry understood why Hermione had fought so assiduously for house-elf rights, even at the cost of losing the respect of the creatures she fought for. What would it be like, she was really saying, to tirelessly serve a family and yet be enslaved, ridiculed, disrespected? What would it be like to put your whole existence into a place and then be ill-remembered, or not remembered at all, when you passed on?

_It's just wrong, is what it is.... Wait--the inscription!_

"Professor... Albus... what does it say? What's written there?"

The headmaster replied softly, almost reciting. "'_Here lies Kreacher, last house-elf of the Family of Black. May he rest in..._ah...oh, dear."

"What?"

But Harry had focused and already noticed: at the end of the second sentence the inscriber had written "_pieces_" instead of "_peace_". Despite the odd sadness in his heart, he couldn't quite stifle a snort.

Albus's flush was an annoyed one; he started muttering to himself, so quickly that Harry couldn't decipher all the words; but he **_did_** faintly hear his headmaster say "_Remus_" rather accusingly. He guessed whom it was that had buried the grumpy elf with a wry grin.

"We shall have to have a chat..." Albus flicked his wand, sighing. "_Abeo_."

With the help of realization, Harry's grin faded as swiftly as the word did; as it changed to _peace_ he murmured softly, "That's not good enough."

"Explain, please, Harry," Albus prodded gently, watching him closely again.

His voice and passion and agitation rose together. "That's just not good enough--for you, for me, for a house-elf, for _anybody_. No one deserves to just have a bare grave when they die--or--or not have one at all..." A pang went to his heart as Sirius and the Veil came to mind; he felt dizzy, lightheaded. "He needs something. I hate him for causing Sirius's death, but... but... Albus, I need some flowers."

Smiling, the headmaster gestured to the field around them. "Help yourself."

Harry concentrated on the bundle of flowers he wanted, waved his wand and cried, "_Accio Flowers!_"

A good-sized bouquet flew into his other outstretched hand; Albus's eyes widened, understanding his child's intention, as Harry knelt and spread the flowers over Kreacher's grave in silence, his head bowed.

"_Nobody_ deserves a bare grave," he declared again firmly. He was shaking. He did not know why he was being so kind, why he was sidestepping his deep hatred, or why Albus was smiling at him like that...

"Harry." Albus moved to hold him again, tightened his grip. He could not stop, in his astonishment, murmuring the boy's name, gazing at him in wonder. "Harry, Harry.... Every day I learn something new about you. Every minute I am--I _become_ more amazed, more enthralled at the type of person you are. I should have guessed that you would do something this admirable."

Harry blushed yet again. "It's really not much compared to what he should--"

"On the contrary--I could scarcely be more proud of you than I am at this moment."

_What a compliment!_ He glowed inwardly, letting his emotions speak for themselves for a while. Still looking immensely pleased himself, Albus gently maneuvered him away from the grave and back in the direction they had come.

"Why don't we go someplace less gloomy now? I trust you've had your fill of grief for quite a while?"

Harry nodded. "I think I want something different now."

"Good. I think I will let Nymphadora worry about us a bit longer and keep you out.... How about we venture into the town below and have a bite to eat?"

"Albus--that's a _Muggle town_! We're not dressed correctly!"

"That can be easily remedied."

"What--but I--but--_Albus_!" Harry was reduced to incoherent, desperate sputters.

Albus winked at him. "Well, are you hungry or not?"

"Oh, Albus..."

* * *

_Spell Definitions:_

_Induco_--to cover (up)

_Obscuro_--to obscure; darken

_Abeo_--to change (something)

* * *

_A/N_: Done at last with Chapter Seven, and during my family's birthday month!

~_**Songs I'm Listening To**:_ _She Wolf_ by Shakira, _Hot Mess_ by Cobra Starship~

**Please, please read my other children! The neglect is killing them! (sobs for them)**

Chapter Eight is twelve pages. You'll be seeing it soon. Until then!


	8. Status Past Escape

_A/N:_ Welcome to Chapter Eight of _Lost Flash_! ...And I sound like I'm announcing a television show.

Say goodbye to Harry and Albus for now, for they are currently enjoying themselves in a Muggle town. I am happy to introduce some of my original characters, those who have a huge pull on the plot of this tale. **I own all of the people you are about to see, **excepting Voldemort of course. This is the village Voldemort was in during Chapter Three and onward; this was Jonathan's home. That should clear some things up.

**Disclaimer:** Oh, I own _Harry Potter_ until I wake up every morning, but the dreams just aren't always enough... you know?

* * *

**Chapter Eight:** Status Past Escape

* * *

_Guard duty,_ Kennil reflected bitterly, teeth clenched. _Wonderful._

He stomped his way up to the fence, glared out to the entire world beyond his village. _I dare you to intrude. Just try! We'll catch you and string you up by your nosehairs. We'll boil the blood in your bodies without as much as pricking your skin! We'll do what we did to the Darkest lord the wizarding world _thought _they'd ever seen-extra emphasis on 'thought'!_

He ran his fingers along the wood, ignoring the telltale tingle every few moments that represented splinters. _And look what we did with _him_... Which leads me to wonder WHY I am protecting a village that no outsiders can see! Voldemort, when he was here, went where we __**told**__ him to go, which was at the very edges of our property. _We_ drew _him_ further in, not the other way round. So why torture your own villagers with guarding such __**large**__, already-protected borders?_

_And why did _I_ have to be first?_

"Kennil! Oi, Kenn!"

His former avöy glided toward him, brushing ash and pollen off his flame-colored coat.

"Avöy..." Kennil bowed to mid-chest level and then chuckled as he straightened. "I do believe you're the only old man in this entire village who uses both the half-word "_oi_" and who dares to call me 'Kenn' or 'Ken'—or however people style it."

Avöy Fhlint smiled—or smirked, depending on one's view. "Kenn, then. And how are you today? Doing well, I trust? And how is life as my graduate treating you?"

"Guard duty sucks."

The Teacher laughed. "This wasn't exactly your lot in life, I'll admit! I believe we delivered this particular task to Brinda and Toxill. When Tox did not show up, we had to find an—ah—quick replacement."

"So they stuck me with _border patrol_?"

"Your name was already in the air, Fiery One. It got there quite recently, when the Head Judge mentioned how helpful you and your sister were in helping Ren restrain our little _wizard guest_."

_My sister, Voldemort, the Head Judge, Ren... my head is spinning. How can all these people possibly tie together?_

"The Head _Judge_ spoke of me? With you and the other _avöys_?"

"And various other elders, yes. It was your friend Ren who mentioned you first." Avöy Fhlint sighed wistfully, stroking his recently-trimmed beard. "Ah, if only her affinity had been with _fire_ and not _wind _- I would have enjoyed digesting her personality during our time together as Teacher and Pupil. And perhaps, if Jonathan—"

Kennil growled to cut his Teacher's train of thought off. "Jonathan and I would _not_ have been of the same affinity, or even similar students...!" The thought made his blond ponytail bristle.

"Little Kennil! Holding on to a young man's rivalry is silly of you. You and Jonathan _did_ occasionally get along, and then rather well. Do not let the nature of your separate Teachers and affinities get to you. –And who, anyway, permitted you to say '_would not have_'?"

He pushed thoughts of Ren away—they were replaced by a sour taste in his mouth that he had not expected to feel the first time he had to really, truly think of Jonathan's fate again.

"Jonathan is dead, Avöy."

"Is he really? Do not presume such, _especially_ not based on the nature of his former _avöy_ and the boy's own talents."

Kennil bristled even further. His blood felt like it was boiling, and he had no idea why he was reacting so angrily to all of this. "Are you saying that the entire _village_ is wrong about him?"

"No, simply giving you advice—and something productive to think about while you're out here protecting us. I consider torture threats to unknown enemies and laments laced with self-pity to be counter-productive.

A blush rose to his cheeks. _He was __listening__ to my thoughts earlier._

Avöy Fhlint, pleasure done (for he derived strange pleasure in proving others wrong), moved swiftly backward to business. "...So. What, so far, is our status past Voldemort's escape from our home?"

He looked intently at his former pupil. Kennil could be seen (and _was_ seen) by many as an emotion-hybrid (an awkward word-choice, yes, but it fit him): he could be passionate at times, even fierce; yet when confronted with someone he felt was superior to himself, he would be reduced to stammering and other foolishness—or else go completely taciturn. His eyes were a darker, deeper blue than most any other in the village, and next-to-none could see his thoughts on his face.

Not unless they were speaking to him of three people, that is.

Kennil was speaking, not noticing that his former teacher seemed lost in reverie. "It is the same as it was yesterday and the day before and the _weeks_ before, according to Brinda herself: _precarious_. We know not whether the wizard scum will choose to try and return here—so our little invisible presence is the best way they've come up with to frighten off the _Death Eaters_."

"Bitterness scarcely becomes you."

"I have the right to change that." Kennil stormed away, felt his fury grow when he heard the telltale footsteps of his former Teacher which meant the latter was pursuing him. "Why do you follow me, Avöy? Before you even ask, I have no desire to further _learn_ as some of my fellows do. I finished my schooling, and I am done with teachers. _I_ only want to know why we are so scared of a group of hell-raisers we have already trounced and frightened away! _I_ wish to understand why we are sitting here wringing our hands over members of a race obsessed with conquering a force _no being_ will ever understand! And—"

Avöy Fhlint waited patiently through this rant, playing with a flame on his palm. When Kennil's anger had dissolved and smoldered into ashes, he prodded quietly: "And _what_, Kennil?"

His shoulders slumped; his dark eyes dulled, and he looked at his bright-eyed teacher.

_...How do I say this?_

"I wish that Jonathan, foolish boy that he is or was or _whatever_, had not chosen to _spy_ on a bunch of scheming wizards, thus getting _himself_ killed and putting his only family in danger. _That_ is what I wish for overall—since you are so desperate to know, yes? Because of _him_, Voldemort found out about and now covets the Lost Flash as his own-"

The Avöy snarled, cutting his student off this time instead of the other way around. "I see that you, too, are blinded by the _overall_ opinion of our resident village fools... I expected better of you..."

His eyes flashed flame, flickered in a way that frightened Kennil to his core, even blazed...

"Doing research is the _key_ to our extensive knowledge as a community, and how we stay secret. Keeping up with things none expect us to know of is how we _avöys_ teach our people and how we continue to befuddle wizards! For example, what everyone shall soon _know_, thanks to one of my closest colleagues: it was not Jonathan who informed Voldemort of the Lost Flash, Sensor though he is. Many people, wizards and Flash Searchers alike (with few exceptions, you not being one of them) do not seem to realize that Voldemort can be considered a scholar: what he knows about magic and death, he has _learned_. In this case—our case—Voldemort learned of the Flash through extensive research, both abroad and within what is called the Department of Mysteries."

"_What?_ The _wizarding_—the _Ministry of Magic's_—how do _**they**_know anything about us, for goodness' sake?"

"Stop sputtering," Fhlint replied; he was obviously still disgusted with his once-pupil. "We were not the only ones who kept records and told stories in the times when the two different magic-wielders crossed paths. Often enough, the wizards who crossed us went and told the Department instead of recording it in more open records; their Unspeakables then would Obliviate these people and move on a little richer in knowledge. This explains why we have long gaps in time between wizards (and witches, how silly of me to forget!) 'visiting' us. Fools... the lot are benighted, Voldemort is complete scum, and the Ministries are deluded recluses."

Kennil choked out a grave laugh at the Avöy's bluntness, so like Ren's. "_We_ are recluses, Teacher, in a way."

"In a way," Avöy Fhlint conceded, equally gravely. "The truth is, from what I have gathered, Jonathan discovered Voldemort's knowledge of the Flash and set off to stop him, to... head him off, as it were. It is regrettable that he chose to try and protect us on his own...but it was noble nonetheless, and served its own purpose. The 'eavesdropping' picture our guest spun was only the result of his stupidity in overlooking Jonathan's infinite wisdom and loyalty when it came to protecting secrets."

Silently, Kennil seethed, and lamented his own stupidity. _How could I have not grasped that?_

"Of course, I might forgive you for all of that, considering that your mind may have strayed to other people and places...Ren and Voldemort, for example..."

_I look like an idiot right now._

"...I can understand how you may not have had time to sit around and hypothesize." Avöy Fhlint stretched and turned away, smiling. "I will leave you to your guarding, little Kennil. Mind that you tune in to what is happening around you more often now...curb your temper, as well. ...Oh dear; two young women approach that I might not be interested in speaking to. They want only _your_ attention, Fiery One, and so it shall be."

Kennil had barely blinked and Avöy Fhlint had vanished like smoke blown away, leaving behind only a hint of ash to show he'd even visited; it was a trifle he pulled often when he was dismissing one of his students. It annoyed and pleased him at the same time that the man still thought to do it to _him_.

_Wait a mo—who's coming to talk to me now?_ Finding no answer yet, he sighed. _Silly me...I was acting no better than a wizard with Avöy Fhlint earlier. How _do_ they stand being so narrow-minded and foolish? Were _we_ wizards, for example, Voldemort wouldn't have lived to even consider burning down or remotely harming __**our**__ village_...

* * *

It turned out to be Brinda Silvers and Ren Rivers who were coming over the hill toward both him and the fence: Brinda, who was supposed to be guarding the other side of the village; and Ren, his newest friend (not that there was much competition), the one Avöy said he had grown to dangerously admire...

"Hi, Ken!" she called, powder-blue eyes sparkling from a distance. "Liking the view?"

"Very funny..."

Brinda jogged away from Ren's side and to Kennil, blue-black hair flying behind her like a banner. "Hail, Kennil! I've just come from the other side of the village with Renna here—"

"I am not named _Renna_," Ren cut in smoothly.

"—and gotten pretty good news besides. I've been relieved from guard duty! Isn't that _marvelous_?"

"Fantastic," Kennil deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

"Technically I'm still on 'till tomorrow, but I had to tell you ASAP. And I do believe Tox might be headed this way with some good tidings for _you_ as well."

She winked with one brown eye, then made her way away from the fence and toward the center of the village, humming an unfamiliar tune.

Ren waited until the girl's hair disappeared from view before bursting out laughing.

"What's this?"

She was overcome with giggles. "Oh...my...goodness! I listened to her...the _whole_...way...here. As a result... I now know how much she hates guard duty, how cute-but-lazy she thinks Toxill is and how adorable-but-too-quiet she thinks _you_ are. I hate to have to tell you this, but—well—she's stuck on you, darling."

"Wh—what—_what_? No, not at all, no way! Brinda doesn't-that's perfectly ridiculous-you're bluffing!"

"Sure I am," Ren agreed dryly. "She talked about you all the way up here. Frankly, I think I'm sick of you now."

_Ouch._ "Ah...I, um, guess I can live with that..." (Privately he cursed Brinda with every misfortune he could think of, trying in vain to hide his own embarrassment.)

"Don't take things so _literally_, Kennil; I was only joking." Ren pulled her red hair back into a ponytail with one hand, then let it fall free. Those powder-blue eyes sparkled again.

"You should humor her, Kennil. She may be a good match for you (more than Toxill, anyway). Her personality can be a bit..._quirky_, but then again, that may just be my old age making me crabby."

"You're not old!" And Kennil meant it-to him, Ren simply did not seem old. In fact, he sometimes privately deluded himself into thinking that they were both the same age, and she not fourteen years older than him. _Besides, if I even try to imagine a fifteen year-old Ren doing something like holding an infant me—ack! Brain damage, here I come._ "You look to be my age—or even younger, like—ah—nineteen!"

It was simple flattery. He'd read about it. He thought it would work. She didn't eat it up in the slightest.

She punched his arm playfully and walked a distance away, smirking. "Little Kennil, it's been a long time to me since I was nineteen—young, single, and still under tuition. Living the dream, and all that."

Kennil followed, kicked a rock, his fingers still trailing down the fence. _Why does _she_ have to call me by that nickname, too?_ Part of this distraction was to keep from outwardly blushing as he painted her picture in his mind. When she had been nineteen, he had been five..._ five_!

_Let's change the subject before I boil over, yes?_

"Um...Ren, why are you out here exactly?"

"I'm keeping you company, idiot." She faltered, and he gritted his teeth. He saw what was coming: he recognized her now-paling heart-shaped face, the wetness forming at the corners of her eyes, and the new habit: the mournful half-rub at the new tattoo on her neck. "...And I am keeping myself company as well, I think... I miss my son, Kennil."

"Yes..." _...And we're back to the one I so dislike. If he hadn't died, we would be talking about her right now-or is Avöy Fhlint right, and is Jonathan _not_ really dead?_

"Kennil... Milius is far off, and I need a friend. I must wait many, many months, perhaps a year, for any probable sort of miracle...won't you hold me a moment, as friends do?"

Sadness welled up inside of him for the first time, real sadness, and he held his arm out for her. She rested her head on his shoulder and hiccupped a few times, lightly. She did not cry, openly or otherwise, and this bothered him; but he could only ponder over it a few moments before Ren pulled away. Or did she have to push him? He wasn't sure.

"Thank you. You've always been so loyal."

"Would I be a friend if I wasn't?"

There was a strange tension between them. Why?

Ren shook her red mane slowly back and forth-her blue eyes gleamed toward his darker ones in a way he didn't like—it was too cocky, too _knowing_. "You have a lot to learn about the different types of loyalty, Kennil. There are so many, yet any and all can be easily defined—and betrayed. It is family loyalty that permits me to implore you to go with Brinda, to accept her (I _do_ think of you as family, you know). She will be a good friend, a greater companion, if you are one to her."

He rested his gaze fully on her. "And what if I don't need any more friends than I have?"

Ren laughed again, and the air seemed to clear. "Fool, _everyone_ needs as many friends as possible! I do believe that's the most amusing thing you've said yet. Oh, _Kennil_..." She bubbled on, some of her good humor restored. She rarely had weak moments, and when she did she seemed to bounce back more invulnerable than ever.

_Gee. Thanks._ "Yeah, yeah—prolong my spotlight. Continue to make me feel stupid. The _point_ I was trying to make is that I have absolute authority in deciding whom I interact with—and Brinda Silvers is _not_ on that list."

Ren pouted - or at least appeared to. "You're so mean."

"_What_? No, I'm not!"

"Mmmm-hmm..."

"_Ren_! I am _**not**_ mean!"

"Sure you are. It's why everyone is afraid to approach you all the time, silly."

"Afraid to..." He broke off, frowning. Well. –Well, _that_ might clarify some things... explain some mysterious things that had happened a few years back...

He snapped out of it. "Oh for Flash's sake—_you're on the list_! If you merely tolerate Brinda, why does her _not_ being important to me bother _you_?"

"Because _I'm_ nice."

_Oh, shut up._

"...Change of topic. ...How is being an 'Aspiring Apprentice' or whatever it's called?"

A casual observer would have missed the smile that snuck onto Ren's face, but Kennil was luckier. "I _**love**_ every second of it. Avöy Shoil is a fine teacher; I am on a higher level of thinking than ever I have experienced before; we converse together with my dear old Avöy occasionally; _and_ I feel like a young girl again, back in schooling! This for me is the passion of my heart, the fuel of my fire..."

"Careful saying that aloud," Kennil warned her gently. _As if she didn't already know._ To say such a thing in front of what he mockingly called the Higher Powers would mean to them that Ren wanted to be that sort of scholar—an _Aspiring Apprentice_ or whatever nonsense—for the rest of her life, if they decided to assign her such a role. Pups younger than her had been reduced to cleaning homes, being apprenticed to hateful teachers (well, maybe not _hateful_), and even—he shuddered—_guard duty_.

"Mmmm-hmm, yes, well... while _I_ wouldn't actually mind being educated forever were it to come to that, _you_ put distance between yourself and the wheels of the teaching system the moment you were set free."

"I don't believe in eternal schooling, Ren. Period."

"_Everyone_ living knows that you don't believe in very much advanced learning at _all_, Kennil," Ren replied dismissively. "It's surprising, especially since you had Avöy Fhlint as your instructor—and yet you had no voice in Voldemort's trial and torturing, is that right? Your fire is not easily stirred."

"That makes it more dangerous when it does stir." _As it does now, when you proceed to treat me like I am a child._

"True, true..." Ren rubbed her sleeved arms—it was hot outside, even though the village had usually cooled off by late July. "Ah, my time has been shortened; I must go and do more unpleasant business." She straightened, put on a teasing grin, and punched his arm. "Do well with guard duty, Ken."

"That hurts me, Ren—that really hurts."

"Oh, suck it up." And she was gone, her red mane waving like a flag. When they were several feet apart, she turned back and called to him:

"Hey-_don't worry_! Our greatest threat is now far from here, licking his wounds. Voldemort won't dare challenge _you_ for the village, anyhow. Have faith that all stays as it is now...!"

_And I can't follow her? Ah, I _hate_ guard duty!_

He quickened his pace, walking anew, moving away from his stagnant area of the fence. His dark blue eyes spotted two men approaching him (_I'm popular today_), one of which who seemed to have their head bowed. _The infamous Toxill, I'll bet._ He hurried to meet them, half keeping an eye on their border and wondering what was going on _now_.

The first man reached Kennil, pulled the second with him (_Ah, it __**is**__ Toxill—jerk)_, and crossed his arms firmly. "We're here, Toxill. Now _say it_."

Toxill blushed and further bowed his head-his dark hair obscured his sea-foam green eyes. "Um... I... er, Kennil? I was the one the Elders officially assigned to—er—patrol our borders." He was shaking—he was a thin, pale man, though in only a few respects, including impressing any nearby women. He was older than Kennil, but could have been a much-younger brother instead of a slightly-older one.

"Yes, Avöy Fhlint told me earlier."

"Really? Because that's great-really, I—"

"_Toxill_," the other man growled, nodding Kennil's way. Kennil had personally forgotten he was there—he hadn't ever seen either of these men before. "Stop procrastinating, don't _snivel_ like that, and _get to the point_."

"O-o-okay...sorry." Toxill straightened, just a little, regained control; now he looked more like the cute-but-lazy rogue that Brinda had indirectly painted for him—_emphasis on 'lazy'_.

"I decided not to show up, and then I learned _you_ were being given the task in my stead. Needless to say, I turned myself in and am facing punishment this very instant."

_I'll bet,_ Kennil thought sourly. But the rational part of him didn't doubt it—the Elders, Head Judge and jury of the Flash Warders doled out near-vicious punishments to those whom they felt stepped out of line in any way.

"And part of that punishment, after today... is to take my rightful place as guard of our village, Kennil. So you are free after tonight."

_Is that so?_

"I might skip for the joy of it," Kennil replied; his voice was thick with sarcasm, but his eyes gleamed anew as they hadn't in days. Mentally he started planning all of the things he would say and do around the village, _within_ the Elders' hearing, with his renewed freedom.

"Er...that's all I had to say."

"_**Toxill**_," the mysterious man (who had yet to introduce himself, Kennil noted disgustedly) roared even more firmly. "That is NOT all you had to say to him! Now apologize properly, or it will be the worse for you!"

Kennil raised one bright eyebrow. _What more does this annoying man have to say? I'm still _busy_ here, after all..._

"Um..."

"_Yes?_"

"I would recommend you get to the other side of our borders pretty soon. They found some of Voldemort's possessions there." Toxill breathed out heavily, frowned at some abstract other thought of his own, and then rushed away, up the sloping lane.

The man who had dragged him to this point brought him back with one casual stretch of toned muscles and queried "Anything _else_?" with a stern glare and a growl in his voice.

"—I'm sorry for putting you here in the first place. I _swear_ I knew not who would replace me."

"Whatever."

"_Good_ boy," the man said sardonically, petting Toxill's head as one would a puppy. "And _now_ you may run away."

Toxill did, and this time the other man did not stop him; instead, he nodded respectfully to Kennil (_I still don't know who the hell you are_) and sauntered off in a completely different direction.

_And why did Toxill think his cowardice and renegade ways bothered me so much? I don't even _know_ the man! Honestly... I hate today._

His thoughts switched from Toxill and his strange companion back to thinking of Ren, as he was often wont to do—but this time he dwelled particularly on her last words to him this afternoon.

_Licking his wounds, eh..._?

* * *

With a loud SPUTTER, Voldemort spat more blood on the floor.

His limbs shook, convulsed, as though he were having some sort of enchanted seizure (or whatever that blasted matching Muggle term was); his red eyes had a milky, diluted look to them. His stomach roiled, and he vomited only blood—his little appetite had been beaten out of him about a week ago.

_This is... undoubtedly... my lowest point._

More convulsions.

He had been forced to dismiss his Death Eaters, wanting none to question his superiority over them, once these—_symptoms_—had shown up. The trials he had recently survived were not yet done with him—yesterday had taught him that.

_These Flash Searchers,_ he thought resignedly, with a wince at a not-yet-healed wound, _are perhaps crazier than I am._

Voldemort rose, pointed his yew wand, and wrapped himself once again in bandages, cursing the village of his nightmares (_yes, _nightmares_!_ he thought hysterically) with words he'd learned long ago at the orphanage.

_A minor setback,_ he told himself, summoning Nagini with a click of his tongue. _A mere stumble in reaching the prize. They will soon scream and marvel at how I seem to leap back stronger from death, from ruin..._

Voldemort spat again, and this time the blood was more of an inky reddish-black.

_I said that the Lost Flash and prophecy would be mine no matter the cost, and I shall be true to my word. However... under the circumstances, I shall personally withdraw my presence in the other boy's world—and in my own. The Flash and Harry Potter are safe from me._

_For now_.

* * *

-Look for a Deleted Scene for this chapter soon. It will be called, if I remember correctly, _More Unpleasant Business_.

-The next chapter is called _The Trio Reunited_. I'm sure you can guess what happens in there.

-I know, I know, it's taken soooo looong, but Harry's summer arc is almost over. I shall cheer if I manage to successfully write life at Hogwarts for him.

See you soon, hopefully, and send this poor dear some feedback...


	9. The Trio Reunited

Two more chapters (including this one) and I can _at last_ begin. Soon.

Truly, it shouldn't really take so long to bring the trio together. But I really wasn't ready for Harry to be "happy and returned to normal" with Ron and Hermione when he needed to angst (even to the unnecessary point) about losing Sirius and everyone else he happens to form a bond with. And even then the angst won't be over forever.

Needless to say, I think he's somewhat ready now. I still don't own him. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter Nine:** The Trio Reunited

* * *

Harry shot awake, moaning from a deep dream.

It took him several minutes to remember how to breathe, his sides heaving. Light faded slowly from his emerald eyes as he remembered who he was, where he was, what had happened to him. His shoulders were stiff as plaster; his peace had been shattered in an instant.

Two fingers found their way onto Harry's shoulders, then two more, then two more, until there were two hands massaging his shoulders and then one moving to rub circles on his arm. Harry's eyes fluttered, drifted downward as he began to remember too whom he had been sleeping beside, and why.

"You're still awake," Albus murmured behind him, sounding neither reproachful nor condoning of him.

"Sorry. –I mean... I was dreaming."

"Tell me more about it later..." Inwardly, Albus remembered now quite a _lot_ of things he had put to the side for 'later'. "...For now, I only want you to rest. You have woken from these dreams for a few days already... but tomorrow is special, and you must be awake for it; I wish you to be."

_Huh?_ "What's... so special about..." Harry yawned and could not finish.

"_**Sleep**_," Albus ordered firmly, eyes twinkling all the while. "You'll find out when you've rested. Don't make me tickle you again."

Harry turned over instantly, lying back down and closing his eyes—he felt Albus readjust the covers over them and sigh in his nearest ear, and ruffle his hair tenderly. It was still a nice feeling.

"Go back to sleep, Harry," he coaxed. "All is well around you."

Gradually, smoothly, Harry slipped into peaceful darkness, this time unaccompanied by dreams.

Albus watched him for a few moments, almost pensively. _These are the last few hours he'll be fifteen years old in_. But instead of waking him, he settled down beside him and calmed his restless thoughts.

* * *

"Mate! Mate! Mate! _Mate!_"

_Wha...? –Who is it __**now**__?_

"C'mon, Harry, wake up! I'm here! _I'm here!_"

Harry moaned blearily, unsure if all this shouting was attached to Hogwarts or not—last he remembered, Ron had been asking him something a few moments ago—

_Wait._

_Ron._

Wait a moment. _That_ had obviously been a dream—he'd fallen asleep in Grimm auld Place—yet the person deafening him now just _had_ to be—

_**Ron!**_

Harry's eyes snapped open, blinking quickly as he snatched up his glasses; Ron was right at his ear, yelling senseless things, while Hermione-in-the-corner shook her head in mock disappointment and despair.

"_Ron!_ You're _here_!"

He tackled Ron to the floor in a hug stronger than he'd ever given—he was that happy to see his oldest friend. Ron nearly choked; Hermione doubled over laughing.

"Get—_**off**_, Harry!"

"How'd you get here? Where did you come from? _When'd_ you get here?"

Hermione was drowning in giggles. "That was the cutest thing I've seen all summer. And yes, Ron, you deserved that..."

With an angry grunt, Ron finally shoved Harry off of himself; indignantly he repeated: "Did you just say _I deserved that_?"

She couldn't stop giggling at the image of them both; Harry, still on the floor, also couldn't regain his breath for laughing. "You were hitting him, for goodness' sake—hitting him and yelling in his ear—in some places that qualifies as abuse. I would have tackled you too."

Ron looked strangely annoyed at that statement too; Harry, on the other hand, was still laughing when the door opened and Albus entered. He smiled at the scene before him—Ron flushing as red as his hair, glaring at his two friends; Hermione with two fingers pressed to her lips, trying in vain to keep her addicting giggles at bay; and his child, Harry, rolling on the floor, still laughing.

"Ah, I see that you've found each other... Harry, I suggest that you bathe and get some fresh air with your friends; I'm sure you have missed them."

Harry gave him a grateful look—then, after several long moments of calming himself down (and ignoring the look pasted on his best friend's face), he managed to stand and run out, in the direction of the shower.

* * *

"So Mrs. Weasley finally let up?"

They were outside of number twelve's gloomy atmosphere, though Albus had only allowed them to go a few feet away—and that reluctantly. It was Hermione who asked the first question: Harry, to her dismay, seemed content to stay quiet now that he had expressed his pleasure at their reunion.

"Yeah, mainly since everything is colder than Aunt Muriel's pasties back home," Ron said blatantly. "Nobody'll talk to Percy back home except Mum, Bill, and Charlie—and those two are hardly ever home. Dinner is depressing—to be kind about it."

"And...?"

"Dad finally convinced Mum that I'd be happier _and_ safer here with you lot, especially after... well, you know..."

Ron flailed helplessly until Harry said "Yeah, Sirius's will reading" as calmly as though his insides were _not,_ in fact, squirming like prey spotted by a predator.

"...Er... yeah. So I packed some stuff, and Professor Lupin came to get me, and we Flooed in and wrecked the couch this morning."

"_And_ woke me up," Hermione sniffed, quelling Harry's sudden desire to laugh.

"Well, I'll send you a post in advance next time I decide to come and spend time with you," Ron retorted, and the air chilled a tiny bit.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, I was only joking..."

"Shut _up_," Harry interrupted, shocking them both out of pre-argument mode, "before you ruin a nice day." It was warm out; birds were zipping past and Muggle teenagers had their music up to ear-splitting levels. He himself felt different than he usually did—calmer, more relaxed.

To his surprise, this casual remark of his had Hermione furious—and not with him.

"_Ron! You told him!_ They _told_ you _not to say anything _and _**you told him**_!"

"Wha—OW!" Ron yelped as Hermione smacked him firmly on the shoulder. It must have really hurt—he went scarlet again, this time with pain. "Are you—have you _gone mental_? I didn't tell him _anyth_—OW!"

"Then, Ronald, _how does he know about it_?" Hermione's cheeks were fire-engine red with fury.

"It _wasn't_ me! It's been the three of us together _all morning_, for Merlin's sake!"

"Would you two please stop arguing," Harry yelled over them, ignoring the suddenly-staring passersby, "and tell me what it is I apparently _know_?"

This stopped Hermione cold; as Ron suddenly glared murderously her way, her angry blush turned to one of obvious embarrassment, and her gray eyes widened with realization.

"Oh," she said—squeaked, really—softly.

"'_Oh_'?" Ron practically roared, standing up—even without the few inches he'd grown so far this summer, he towered over Harry and Hermione. "You clobber me and yell at me, and your only apology is 'oh'? Look who _really_ let the cat out of the—oh, _whatever_ Muggles say!"

"I'm sorry, Ron!" Hermione's eyes watered. "It's just—it sounded like—I thought he meant— I'm sorry!"

"_What are you two talking about?_" Harry hissed, exasperated.

Hermione and Ron glanced at him, then toward each other, and then back at Harry; they hastily said "Oh, it's nothing" and "Never mind, just a mix-up", and then apologized to one another quite civilly—though inwardly both sighed with relief at the close call.

_They're worse than ever now. –And I'm tired of getting stuck in the middle._

"Ron—Hermione—listen—"

"Hey, you lot!"

They turned—Tonks, now redheaded like Ron, was calling to them from the front door.

"Come inside before the Muggles arrest you—you're certainly making enough noise!"

Harry sighed, beckoned to Ron and Hermione with a glare, and made his way across the street, back into gloom. It wasn't until they were inside, with Tonks giving him an intriguing smile, that it finally occurred to him: today was his birthday.

_That explains why I've felt so strange._

He pondered over it, then, nodding only blankly when Hermione suggested they go down and show Ron the library and piano. He was sixteen... did that mean anything in particular?

_Well, it's one more year I've made it to with Voldemort after me._

...Okay, probably not, since Ron and Hermione hadn't made a big deal out of it yet—but still, he hoped that they at least had gotten something small for him. The gesture would be nice, at least.

They were downstairs now, Ron moaning at the sight of so many books and marveling at the piano despite himself. Smiling, Hermione glanced at Harry—he grinned back, hiding his own self-scrutiny.

_I might be a little taller. Not near Ron's height. My eyes seem different, but my hair still won't go flat... Otherwise I'm the same as I was when I was fifteen just yesterday. Shouldn't I be—I don't know—wiser, or stronger, or _something_ that might help me with my Voldemort problem?_

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione now asked Ron, sitting on the piano stool; instinctively Harry sat next to her, since they had often played it before the will reading. Ron looked at him a bit strangely, but then he remembered the question and, brightening, his own personal interest in it.

"She's not here yet—but I think she'll sneak over here soon."

Harry discarded this information and pressed one key on the piano; Hermione pressed a few more, pulled Ron over to her other side; and soon the three of them were passing random melodies back and forth (guided, of course, by the brunette). Between all this, Harry casually dropped his bombshell:

"I know it's my birthday now."

"_Oh_!"

Harry went to glance at Hermione, who had exclaimed so suddenly, but Ron instantly provided a distraction. "Oh... then... Er... We should go back upstairs—since you've figured us out, we might as well just hand over the presents."

The distraction worked. Harry was completely thrown.

"Presents?"

Hermione and Ron smiled at him.

"Yes."

He was upstairs quicker than lightning; the other two had to hurry to keep up. On the way up, they managed to stop him at the entrance to their secret staircase.

"Hey, mate..." Ron punched Harry's shoulder and grinned. "Seriously? Happy birthday. Finally sixteen!"

"Happy birthday, Harry," Hermione said softly; she kissed his cheek, and he felt his cheeks flush at the same time his insides jumped.

"I'm going to remember that come next March," Ron muttered, only half-joking.

"How come you two are so..." Harry searched for the right word. "..._somber_?"

Hermione laughed and pressed against the wall, revealing a completely dark living room.

But not for long.

"SURPRISE!"

"To throw you off track!" Hermione answered, much too late.

Harry had yelped in shock when the lights went on—now he gripped Ron's arm, still half-frozen.

"R-Ron," he stammered, loud enough for the people-filled living room to hear. "If my heart stops right now, I want you to kill the person who did this."

"I wouldn't be able to take them all and win," Ron muttered back. "You're on your own..."

Those would not have been good odds—there were many qualified wizards smiling at him, and it would take only one to have Harry or Ron on the floor in a heap, or completely disoriented, or...

"George," one voice said proudly, breaking the silence, "I think we Petrified him."

Gentle laughter erupted; thankful for the diversion if not the jab, Harry took several more moments to digest all of what he was seeing.

Red and gold streamers hung everywhere, from ceiling and table and wall; occasionally, several somethings BANGed loudly and flew through the air, narrowly missing the biggest table he'd ever seen in his life, piled high with a huge cake, with _Happy Sixteenth Birthday, Harry_ blaring in green icing across the top, surrounded by—

"Presents?" he squeaked; a moment later he hated how timid he'd just sounded.

"I think you've said that twice now," Ron reminded him gently, patting his arm.

"If he faints," George's voice informed the room, "I want his—"

"_George Weasley, don't you dare finish!_"

Harry laughed then, and then so did the guests—_for my _birthday party_!_—and so everyone was relaxed as the party began in full force.

* * *

It turned out that a lot of people had shown up, all welcome and a few unexpected, for the guest of honor. Mr. Weasley had proposed the idea, and everyone caught on and used Ron and Hermione as a distraction ("Sorry about that," Hermione told him later). Looking around, Harry saw at least seven Weasleys, Albus and Remus, Tonks and her parents, and several others who surprised him.

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Hello, Potter," she said gently. "It is good to see you."

"You too, but—I mean—how did you get here?"

She smiled; he noticed that her dark hair, while still in its customary bun, didn't look as stiff as usual. "Professor Dumbledore told me of the party and invited me to join in."

"I believe I pleaded," a voice said gently behind them, and Albus put one hand protectively on Harry's shoulder.

"Albus," Harry said welcomingly, and relaxed slightly; Professor McGonagall's eyebrows rose, but then she smiled and nodded toward her colleague.

"I see that there are a few things Albus did _not_ inform me of." (The other two blushed and shuffled nervously—they weren't aware they'd been so obvious.)

Harry eventually grinned. "I'm glad you came, Professor."

"As am I." She turned away to talk further with Albus, and Harry went over to punch Fred and George, but instead ran into—

"Luna!"

"Hello," Luna Lovegood replied dreamily; her wide blue eyes seemed to shine with positive force. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"Er—thanks. …Hey, Luna…when's your birthday, anyway?"

"Not now." Luna shook her head of pale blond hair. "Today is _your_ day. Think about yourself for a while, for a change… oh, hello!"

Harry was afraid for a second that Luna was talking to someone (or, worse, some_thing_) not-quite-real; but this was denied at once as Ginny Weasley rushed into him from behind.

"Ouch!"

"Harry! Happy birthday! I've been looking all over—"

He chose not to mention that he'd planned it that way—he'd wanted to melt into the crowd and see for himself who all had turned up—and every face had surprised him in one way or another. _Do people really care so much?_

Ginny swung her red hair back, talking to Luna but looking sideways at Harry.

"Hey, Luna! I'm glad you came—Mum's going spare looking for the guest of honor, and you just did my job for me."

She gave Harry a weird look that Luna noticed—Harry had an uncomfortable moment before Luna glanced his way again and eased the tension.

"Neville couldn't make it," she told Harry gently. "He said to tell you he'd promised his parents he'd stay at St. Mungo's for his birthday and yours, two days."

_It's okay, Neville…_ "I don't mind. Enough of us from that night are out here way in the open—Neville shouldn't be vulnerable to attack just for me."

The girls said nothing—they knew he was referring to the Department of Mysteries, though neither had really noticed that five out of six of them "from that night" were here now.

Harry had protested the adults' decision to move his party to a quiet location "out in the open", but they had insisted and… well, here they all were.

Ginny hesitated before speaking. "Harry, it's not like that—"

"Oh—Harry!" Hermione called, suddenly a few feet away. She was beckoning, and Mrs. Weasley was next to her. "Come on! We're going to light the cake—and look who's here!"

"I've already seen—" Harry began, but then his breath was snatched away as someone or something crashed into his legs, knocking him to the grass.

"Harry Potter, sir! _Harry Potter!_"

Stars winked temporarily in Harry's vision; he was vaguely aware of Ron yelling, asking if he was all right; and then of round green eyes staring anxiously at him.

His vision cleared; he blinked rapidly.

"I'm _fine_, Ron; stop yelling in my ear," he said, then: "_Dobby?_"

"Yes, Harry Potter! Dobby is sorry he knocked Harry Potter over, but Dobby is so happy to see him!"

_I hate to ask yet _again_, but…_ "What are you doing here?"

"Dobby is here to light Harry Potter's candles," Dobby replied simply. "Professor Dumbledore invited Dobby to come and see Harry Potter's birthday!"

"You really _did_ get hit hard," Ron teased. "I wasn't yelling at all; no one was."

Hermione came to his side. "Harry, are you okay?"

But Harry ignored them both—to Albus he instead called, jokingly: "You seem to be inviting _everyone_ to come today! Should I expect the Minister to come next?"

The other only smiled and shrugged openly.

Ginny was pulling on his arm. "Come _on_ before your own cake is gone—!"

Several feet away, Dobby was now lighting the candles—Percy Weasley was talking quietly with Professor McGonagall, while the rest of the party was calling Harry over, beckoning…

Harry, still being pulled, pulled on Hermione, who pulled on Ron, and the four of them made their way over to the table.

As soon as they reached it, the singing struck up from everyone:

"Happy birthday to you… happy birthday to you…"

Harry gazed around, enthralled. Albus's deep voice could be heard, as could a soft tremor from Ginny, a surprisingly dark base from both Percy and Mr. Weasley… Luna sang nearly soprano, Hermione's voice was sweet and gentle, and the twins sang a deliberate staccato that had almost everyone laughing mid-song—until Mrs. Weasley stopped them, geared up for a major scolding.

"…happy birthday, dear Harry…"

He waved his hands in the air hastily, eyes stinging. "Stop, stop! You're making me—" He rubbed fruitlessly at his eyes, trying to stop the water. "…Oh, bullocks—forget it!"

"_Excuse_ us?" Fred was smiling—or smirking, it was hard to tell.

"Surely we didn't hear him right, dear twin! _Surely_ our Harry isn't befouling the air so!" George shook his finger, mock-scolding the boy—then, unexpectedly, he was rapped on the knees as Dobby passed by on his way to cutting the cake.

"Good Harry Potter would _never_ befoul the air! Masters Weasley must _never_ say such things about Harry Potter!"

He rapped Fred for good measure, and soon the twins were hopping up and down on one foot in the background, yelping, while the house-elf divvied up slices of cake with a perfectly innocent expression.

"I'm so glad you came," Harry whispered to Dobby; when he then looked ready to grab the nearest harmful object (in this case, the knife he still held) and start swinging, Ron added: "I think you're allowed to enjoy that."

Albus flicked his wand, eyes shining merrily, and the table holding Harry's newly-cut cake expanded to fit seven, ten, fifteen, twenty people. Harry settled down with his friends at one end, and the others gradually filled in.

Percy, to Harry's surprise, finished talking to Professor McGonagall and hesitantly made his way over to them. Ron proceeded to ignore him; Hermione patted Harry's hand under the table, and Ginny eyed her brother sadly. Only Luna kept her same smile.

"Hey, Percy," Harry said softly. In his mind he tried to picture the Percy who'd proudly worn his Head Boy badge at Hogwarts, the one who had chased Fred and George 'round the common room to get it back—not the adult one who had told Ron to distance himself from his best friend.

"…Er…" Percy flushed nearly vermillion. "…Hi, Harry."

"Oi! And what about us, eh?" Ron glared at him, gestured to the others; however, none of them seemed to care as much about the unintentional snub as he.

Percy went a shade darker. "Er…hello…I was wondering if I could, er, possibly…"

"Sit down, Percy," Hermione said equally softly.

He sat down shakily and gratefully—at one point Hermione kept him from falling, and Harry realized that she must still have a soft spot for him. After all, Percy and Hermione had at one time been cut out of the same cloth—until the latter had mellowed out a bit when it came to rule-breaking.

Ginny's muscles were tensed. "What is it, Percy?"

_Can't say the same for the Weasleys, it seems._

"I… wanted to say that…"

Harry interrupted him at this point; the crueler memories of Percy that he'd been trying to forget had come back with a vengeance, and they made him mad. "What's so important that you wanted to say? Spit it out!"

"I was a wanker, all right?" Percy exploded; it shocked all of them. "I was a git, a prat, whatever you want to call it! –It's just…I thought… you _know_ how much I wanted that Ministry position—I was afraid that if You-Know-Who was really—you know, _back_—I would be looked over because… because of…"

"Because of the incident with Mr. Crouch," Harry finished for him. No one could really speculate on how much damage that mix-up had indirectly done to Percy's career and future.

Ron wasn't convinced. "You told me to get rid of my _best mate_! You told us that Dumbledore was mad, that he and Harry were telling lies to the whole country! For Merlin's sake, Percy, you encouraged us to disown Harry!"

_Technically I don't belong to _any_ family_, Harry thought—but for self-preservation reasons he did not voice this obvious fact aloud.

_Not anymore, anyway…_

Ginny obviously agreed with her brother. "You said cruel things about your _own family_, cut off any and all ties to us, just to get ahead! How _dare_ you come back now, acting like nothing's changed? How dare _you_ say 'No harm, no foul' when it took another man's _life_ being lost for you to crawl back with your tail between your legs? When it almost took our dad's life?"

Harry flinched at the mention of his godfather; Hermione squeezed his hand tighter and he spoke up at last, stopping Ron before he could open his mouth and get going again.

"Enough, Ron—you too, Ginny! Today's my birthday—all I'll ask is that you respect my decision on who stays here and who leaves. And Percy stays—okay?"

Both siblings looked like they wanted to protest, but neither said anything.

"Good," Harry replied to the empty air. "Then today, Percy can stay."

The middle Weasley child threw Harry a grateful half-glance and returned to his slice of cake, now focused on it as though it could save him from all the worries in the world. _If only._ Hermione immediately engaged him in conversation, and soon they were chatting almost too eagerly about studying abroad while Ron threw half-jealous, half-scornful glances their way.

Presently Fred and George ventured over from where they'd been talking intently to Albus, grinning as they sat on either side of Ginny.

"Hey, Harry… you're sixteen at last!"

"I gathered that."

"No, you don't understand," George broke in, grinning smugly. "It's a magic number, sixteen… lots of new opportunities, new freedoms. You'll learn to love it, believe me…"

"But I don't come of age until next year."

"_Of age_?"

"And what did we ever say about that?"

"But don't you mean—?"

Fred smirked at Harry's bemused expression. "Think about it, mate—you can roam the school longer into the night, make more trouble—date more girls—"

"Oh yes, definitely a plus side."

"Date more—_what_?" Harry cried, and six others turned from their conversations to face them, to see what the matter was. He flushed the very shade of maroon that Ron hated.

"Why, Harry," Fred ventured innocently. "I would think that for you, the extra girls would be the best part of growing up!"

"You'll get to pick your off-limits corridors—Fred and I had plenty of them for when we needed to get some serious snogging done—separately, of course. You can have some of our old ones, as our benefactor." George winked meaningfully.

"Shut up! I mean—I'm only _sixteen_, for crying out loud!"

People were really staring now."

"But you're _Harry Potter_," the twins said in tandem; but quietly, so that only they could savor his humiliation. "And you're nearly a man—you can get anything, any_one_…"

Harry felt a part of himself shrivel, withdraw from everything, and he scowled at the both of them. In a deathly quiet voice he replied, "I'd rather be anyone else. Don't ever say that to me again."

They were quiet for a while, awkwardly so, eating the rest of their individual slices. Then Ginny said, "Harry, how about we open gifts?"

"Gi—oh, yeah…"

Andromeda Tonks overheard this suggestion, passed it along the table, and soon Harry had a distinct sense of being crowded; all eyes were fixed upon him, waiting for what came next.

His mouth went dry. "So, er… whose should I open first?"

"Here—open my gift first!"

Ginny pushed a small, carefully-wrapped present into Harry's hands—he removed the wrapping gently to find a silver necklace hidden within. Suddenly entranced, he poked a bit at it and found that the front part opened—wide enough to place some treasured picture inside.

"Wow, Ginny! Thanks!"

She blushed. "Um, don't mention it…"

Mrs. Weasley motioned to him, standing next to her husband ("Us next, Harry dear!"), and Harry moved to face them. Immediately a large, vibrantly-green something was pushed and prodded and shoved over him, onto him.

"A new Weasley sweater," he said in near-awe, pulling it all the way on—the high temperature outside was ignored in favor of wonder.

Mrs. Weasley beamed. "I've been working on it for a bit. Oh, and that's not all—Arthur has something for you too! Go on, Arthur, show him!"

Mr. Weasley came over to Harry then and put his hands firmly on the boy's shoulders; Harry had a sense of foreboding, and tried to make himself as tall as possible.

"I don't recall ever formally doing this," Mr. Weasley murmured thoughtfully. He noticed Harry's expression and smiled to relieve the tension, then cleared his throat. "As head of the Weasley family, I'm extending a heartfelt invitation into the family… after all, you're practically one of us anyway."

Harry lost the ability to speak; his mouth opened, but nothing coherent came out. Shock made his palms sweat and his thoughts race.

"Wh-what…?"

"I understand if you may not want to," Mr. Weasley said quickly, though looking for all the world as though he wouldn't understand. "There are plenty of others that are fond of you and that can take care of you. We are especially fond of you—I'm only sorry Molly and I couldn't get ourselves together sooner and ask…"

Harry's mouth was dry again; he glanced around, pleading wordlessly with someone else, _anyone_ else, in the room to come to his aid—but when he was offered no help, he had to swallow several times, find his deeply-buried voice, and manage some sort of answer while his feelings stirred wildly in his chest.

"I… I… Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley… could I please think on it for a while? I mean—I hope you understand—I don't mean to offend at all—"

"Oh no, dear!" Mrs. Weasley beamed, clearly empathetic to his overwhelmed thoughts and emotions. "You don't have to decide right away. We'll give you as much time as you need to sort things out—won't we, Arthur?"

He nodded in agreement, and the jumpy feeling in Harry's stomach eased just a bit.

"Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Harry Potter must open Dobby's present next!"

Bemused, Harry glanced down to see Dobby pulling at his pants leg. He reached down and accepted a malleable, lumpy-looking package from the excited house-elf.

Once again he was careful in unwrapping his present—this time a plethora of unmatching socks. He couldn't help it any longer; he smiled.

"Dobby, this is great!"

"Dobby has been collecting them, Harry Potter," Dobby explained, looking overjoyed that the young man liked his present. "Dobby went to many shops and searched for many days, Harry Potter!"

"I am quite envious," Albus whispered to Professor McGonagall, who chuckled and threw up her hands in mock-defeat.

"Oh, you _would_ be! –Very _well_, I'll get you some socks this Christmas…"

Harry was suddenly not the only one who was cheerful.

Andromeda Tonks, relieved of her near-Healer duties toward the birthday boy, now approached him with a smile and two presents in hand.

"Here you are. Ted has something, too."

Harry promptly discovered what seemed to be a handmade jacket; and within one of the pockets was a beautiful music box with gleaming colors.

"It's beautiful," he managed; even Ron stared at it in amazement. "Both of them, I mean… thanks, Andromeda."

"We each had one," she explained gently; a look of sadness took over when she mentioned her sisters. "Sirius used to keep Bellatrix's; my mother gave me mine when I married Ted; and I think Narcissa sold hers to pay for Draco's birth, or so she told me. Now I give this one to you, to ensure some safe sleeping." Starting to smile, she punched his arm in a manner not unlike her daughter's. "Don't you dare break it, sell it or trash it; else I'll have you strung up by that mess you call hair."

"Yes, Andromeda."

Ted wordlessly eased his wife aside.

"I couldn't think of any wizarding presents to get you," he remarked lightly, and pulled out a medium-to-large-sized package—confusion rose in Harry's mind. "So I went Muggle instead."

He unwrapped it quickly, so as to quench his curiosity—and was shocked at what he found.

"A computer!"

"A laptop, actually," Ted corrected him, smiling. "You haven't kept up. I see…. Consider it a show of friendship. You won't be able to use it at Hogwarts, of course, but I'm sure you'll enjoy playing games on it… and, er, such," he finished quickly, noticing Andromeda's stern glare.

"Thanks! Thanks, the both of you."

He put the jacket on and the laptop temporarily aside; his arms bumped Luna, who had been right behind him, holding her own gift.

"Sorry, Luna."

"I was hoping I'd bump into you," she murmured dreamily; she kissed her thumb and pressed it onto his cheek. "I brought two presents for you."

Harry's face went crimson where her thumb had come into contact with it. "_Er_—thanks, but you didn't have to…do all that…"

"I insist." And she handed him her first strange present—string tied to a pair of what looked like a mix of tomato and onions."

"Gurdyroots," she explained brightly, eyes gleaming. "For protection against nargles."

"Erm…that's great, Luna, thanks—"

Luna held up one hand. "I'm not done yet." She pulled a drawing tablet from behind her back and handed it to him.

Harry flipped through the pages, shocked. There were drawn pictures of himself, both Ron and Hermione, and of Luna herself with Neville and Ginny. Then there was a last one of all six of them in front of a dark, mysterious background. Little lights "gleamed" in the corners of the page.

"To illustrate the Department of Mysteries," Luna explained. "But that's not my best one. Flip back some more, Harry…"

He did, and let out an exclamation of excitement.

Luna had drawn Sirius—he recognized the dark, lanky hair, the bright-yet-haunted look in his dark eyes, and the enormous grin present whenever he'd had longtime company in Grimmauld Place. It was his godfather, perfectly drawn and preserved in a frozen, but happier, time.

But something was different about the setting…

"He's outside," he marveled, blankly.

"He is," Luna agreed. "I only saw him once in person, when we were fighting for our lives at the Ministry, and even in the thick of all that dueling he struck me as a caged bird. I wanted his happiness in the picture to be real and not a show of hypocrisy, flanked by being trapped somewhere he never liked. I hope you like it."

Harry swallowed hard; his eyes twitched, and he blinked fretfully. He really, _really_ wanted to hug her. "I love it. A lot. Thank you, Luna."

He sat down in the grass, cradling the drawing tablet tight to his chest. From a few feet away, Albus sent Professor McGonagall a pleading stare—she nodded and approached, tapping the boy's shoulder to get his attention.

"I have quite a few things for you," she began gently, seeming satisfied when he started from his Sirius-induced reverie. "The first is from Hagrid."

"Hagrid sent me something?" He cheered up immediately.

"Yes. He wanted you to know that he is sorry he couldn't come, but that he was sadly very busy today. He sent his present along with me."

She handed Harry a tough-looking jacket that he examined, with some awe, from every angle. There were some impressed _ooohs_ from the others.

"Professor—what's this made of?"

Professor McGonagall smiled—the second time that day she'd done what she so rarely did otherwise. "I believe that is a dragon-hide jacket, common in Romania as presents to dragon tamers—much like your older brother," she added as an aside to Ron and Ginny, who were as awestruck as Harry.

_Thanks, Hagrid!_

Next his Head of House handed him a pretty thick envelope; she did the same with Ron and Hermione. "Your O.W.L. results. I must say, I'm quite pleased with them."

_As am I_, Harry felt someone say—but, looking around, he saw no sign that anyone had spoken—he only saw Albus suppress a smile.

"And then—my present…" Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and her smile grew a few centimeters in each direction. She unrolled a very long roll of parchment and readjusted her glasses. "Effective September first, you are immediately reinstated to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Mr. Potter. I expect, however, that you learn to curb your temper around rule-happy Ministry employees in the future…"

"_Yes!_" Harry and Ron shouted together, and the former promised fervently to keep his tongue in check when on the Quidditch field or anywhere near it.

"One more thing…. As you may recall, Potter, I promised you that I would help you become an Auror in any way I could."

Yes, he remembered; the fierce declaration had touched him. And yet… "I'm not sure if I want anything to do with the Ministry of Magic any longer, Professor."

"I thought you would say that. Thus, I shall extend my offer of help to any career path you should choose—though you'll hopefully forgive my new lack of Ministry contacts if you happen to change your mind."

He laughed heartily but marveled inwardly at how supportive she was; in the meantime, Remus came forward next to hand him two of the coolest books he'd ever gotten in his life.

"One is a book with all the Marauders'…ah…_adventures_ in it, written by whomever happened to be the mastermind of the particular plan we were putting into action," he explained, smiling as he saw the boy exclaim in awe. He leaned down to whisper the rest in Harry's ear. "The second is a Marauder Rule Book we created in our third year. Well, that is, _I_ made most of it—and let me tell you, it saved us from trouble many a week, when we actually heeded our own rules."

"Whoa," Ron muttered nearby, ogling it; Hermione smacked him.

Harry next accepted yet another package from Remus. "What's this?"

"It's… Sirius's sixteenth birthday present for you, Harry."

Harry's grin slipped; he held it on and mentally scolded himself (_Get a grip, Potter—did you expect him _not_ to get you anything?_). Cautiously, he accepted another Marauder present—a book full of small trinkets and other mementos, with _From Your Parents, James and Lily_ inscribed on the inside front cover—he swallowed hard, flipping carefully through.

"…Well, as you can see, it's really from James and Lily, for when you got older—they entrusted it to Sirius, who gave it to you at the will reading… you remember?"

He nodded. "I remember."

"D'you remember _this_, mate?"

Harry was promptly showered with insane amounts of Nosebleed Nougats, Puking Pastilles and other, newer Weasley's Wizard Wheezes merchandise from above; he nearly lost himself in it all.

"HEY! What—?"

"Our finest merchandise," George explained, grinning slyly. "Only the best for our best patron and benefactor…"

"I'm your _only_ benefactor," Harry managed to mumble between spitting out dangerous amounts of Ton-Tongue Toffee.

"And here's some Quidditch practice for you," Fred smirked, holding out an official-looking piece of parchment, "seeing as you'll be lacking the protection of certain unnamed, talented Beaters. Catch!"

He threw the parchment; Harry's instincts reacted, and his hand shot out and grabbed it before it drifted below eye level. Absently he wondered if Fred and George would get to return to complete their schooling, or if they'd ever get to play Quidditch again.

_Or if they even want to._

"Good, you're still in top form," George commented as Harry skimmed the contents. "I think we'll be keeping the Cup this year as well, twin."

"Hope Filch enjoys polishing it," Fred sniggered. "He's so lucky we're technically 'graduates'."

Harry yelped aloud, recapturing everyone's attention.

"WHAT? B-b-but, but..."

"Something wrong, Harry?"

"B-but..._partnership_?" Harry's voice cracked uncomfortably. "But, but no, I _can't_..."

"Harry," Fred said patiently, spurred on by George's nods, "without your help, we wouldn't even have gotten our ideas off the ground. And just think—if not for your Triwizard winnings a lot of listless, unhappy children would have had to go to _every single one_ of Umbridge's droning lessons—or so our sources say."

_Sources?_

"For the last time, I _was not_ trying to pull of some act of nobility then!" Harry growled between gritted teeth, trying to cut his temper off at the knees. "I didn't want that stupid gold, I never did; Fudge acted like it was more important than Cedric's life—and you two needed it. That doesn't mean I should be some sort of—of _partner_ in your business! I don't have any experience, I'm still in school—for Merlin's sake, I'd just be a figurehead!"

"My, but isn't he passionate," Tonks whispered to Albus, giggling; he smiled gently her way, but a light frown returned to his face as he pondered the twins' words concerning Dolores Umbridge. _What else could I have missed…?_

The Metamorphmagus, still smiling, went up to pull the almost-ranting Harry away from the chortling twins, who didn't seem at all sorry to have flustered the birthday boy so. She gave him her present, which at first seemed to simply be a collection of chromatic wigs.

"Er…thanks, Tonks…" He blushed in her stead, not comprehending.

"Just kidding!" She shoved his shoulder playfully. "Take this."

Harry carefully accepted the small sheet of parchment she handed to him and scanned the quite official-looking message, complete with many illegible signatures at the bottom. Bemused and yet intrigued, he looked closer—he found Tonks's own untidy signature, followed by what looked like none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt's smooth, flowing one.

"It's a pass for free Auror training lessons," Tonks explained earnestly. "You can see that most all of the Aurors signed it—meaning you're welcome to come buff yourself up at any time—Merlin knows Voldemort could just push you hard to off you right now, seeing how thin you are."

_"Tonks!"_ Remus, Albus and Harry exclaimed together—while the first two gaped soundlessly her way in exasperation and shock, the latter began stammering that while he appreciated the gift he _could_ pay for the pass, and he didn't want to inconvenience the Aurors, and furthermore he wasn't _emaciated_, just a little too wiry, and—

"Harry, breathe!" Mr. Weasley shook him gently until he stopped protesting and calmed down.

"Harry Potter is noble and selfless to the end!" Dobby looked overcome with admiration.

_Exactly the _opposite_ of what I wanted._

The gift-giving went a little faster after everyone chuckled awkwardly at both the house-elf's innocence and Harry's agitation—Percy Weasley, out of all people, stepped up next to give the boy something everyone later agreed brought the black sheep back into his family's good graces.

"More documents?"

"Priceless ones," Percy affirmed, "even in Fred and George's opinions."

The twins perked up. "Reeeaaaaally…?"

"Yup."

Harry scanned the papers again. "These papers… Cornelius Fudge's name is all over them… I don't understand."

Hermione, reading behind him, started to laugh. When Ron and Harry started to stare at her, she shrugged. "Look closer! Read a few!"

They both did—it wasn't long before they were flipping the pages faster and faster, howling with laughter. Everyone else, puzzled, moved closer.

"Merlin, _look_ at all this! Fudge signed orders to have an entire floor of the Ministry converted to a spa… papers that would give extra Galleons to whomever in the _Daily Prophet_ would cover the Triwizard Tournament… and here's letters related to discrediting Professor Dumbledore and me from last year—all incriminating stuff!"

Ron chortled. "He's got letters to Umbridge in here… some questionable stuff that he did around the time we were all little kids…whoa, and several pages concerning something about women… I think I'll skip over these…"

"We won't." Fred and George snatched the offending papers from Ron's hands and vanished temporarily into the greater field. Groaning, Remus ran after them with a curious Tonks not far behind.

"Percy… are these what I think they are?"

The middle Weasley child smirked. "There are advantages to being Junior Assistant to the Minister, you know…. Just before I, ah—went AWOL—I slipped into Fudge's office, searched a bit, and found all this… really, the man should know better than to put any valuables he wants to _stay_ hidden behind a chatty portrait."

He snatched back all the papers (a lengthy task) and placed them in Harry's marveling hands. "Print even one of these traitorous beasts in any wizarding paper in Britain—_poof_, there goes Fudge's career. You might be able to oust Umbridge too, I'm not sure… meanwhile, I think I'll talk to Bill. I'd like a quiet life as a Gringotts liaison."

_Can we trade lives, Percy? Please?_

Mr. Weasley started smiling; he came over and clapped his son on the back.

"My father could print all of those," Luna remarked dreamily, gesturing to the stack in Harry's arms. "After the interview, I don't think he'd mind a bit…"

Ron looked at her like she'd caught the Golden Snitch for the Chudley Cannons in the Quidditch World Cup; at the same time, he seemed to be grinning at Percy. "Welcome back to the family, Perce. And Luna—make sure these make front page, eh? Fudge would be insulted if his face appeared after a Crumple-Horned Snorkack's."

* * *

Harry found real excitement in Ron's present—a real Golden Snitch he had to fervently chase to catch, along with a bit of chocolate to sweeten the deal (Albus immediately took it for 'safekeeping'.) When he asked breathlessly where Ron had found it, Ron identified it as the last one Harry had caught before Umbridge had banned him from playing Quidditch.

"I remembered that it had been flying around in the common room… I finally found it under Seamus's bunk and trapped it so it couldn't escape too soon. Honestly, that thing hasn't been quiet for a minute. Hiding it from you has been a job."

Hermione had also gotten him quite a bit of chocolate (_Touch me now, dementors,_ Harry thought dryly), along with a fancy-looking journal that she admitted was homemade. Some pages inside were completely blank, and others had lines all the way down.

"You can draw or write in it," she explained earnestly. "I put in both types of paper just in case. I'm thinking of enchanting it so your thoughts show up only for you…"

"Thanks, Hermione."

"Don't mention it, Harry…"

By this time the presents Harry had been given were piled onto the table. As he glanced at them all in wonder, he noticed multicolored butterflies lying on the gifts and flexing their delicate wings.

It was Albus who regained his attention, handing him first a sole phoenix feather with a smile. "From Fawkes."

"Thank you, …" He looked around; the phoenix was not present. "Where is he, anyway?"

"During the summers, Fawkes goes where he will," Albus explained. "I have no control over what he does while he is away, nor would I want to. A relationship with a phoenix is what both participants make of it; I see it as a privilege when he spends time with me, and I believe that is why we get on so well.

"I have two more things for you."

He handed the boy a golden sphere that glimmered dangerously in the morning sun.

"What's this?"

"It has no name, but it will be quite useful to you, Harry—it has many attributes. I am sure it will come in handy someday, just as long as you promise to keep it on your person often."

"I promise."

"One more thing." Albus flicked his wand and Summoned what looked to be a photo album. "You've gotten quite a lot of these over the years, but I found this one in my possession—and it couldn't hurt to have one more Potter memento…"

"A family album?" Harry sent an excited, hopeful glance his way. Emotion threatened to once again overwhelm him—he had to control his suddenly-unsteady breathing, halt some unexpected, oncoming tears.

"Yes, indeed. It is not full—that, I suppose, can be used in your favor, to create memories of your own." Albus's smile was tender.

Harry found yet more pictures that he couldn't take his eyes off of—most were of his mother holding him, but his father took a turn at it in a few pictures as well. There was a really funny picture of James whirling him around in the air—his barely six months-old self could not stop laughing, but in the background Lily seemed to be yelling at her husband to stop. It was a preserved memory of a better time with people he ached to have known longer.

"Thank you," he said nearly inaudibly. "Thank you all… for today… for just being here… more than you could ever know." It was all he could come up with and manage to bring past the lump growing in his throat.

"Yeah, yeah," Ron broke in, looking almost embarrassed, and ready to cry himself. "You're welcome, and all that. Now, does anyone still want their cake? Is there any still left?"

All tension immediately evaporated.

"_Honestly, Ron!_"

* * *

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_Enclosed are your Ordinary Wizarding Level examination results from the previous June. Congratulations on your exceptional scores, and particularly on receiving an Honorable Mention (extra credit) for your Defense Against the Dark Arts score._

_You have been scored with the following letters:_

_O—__**Outstanding**_

_E—__**Exceeds Expectations**_

_A—__**Acceptable**_

_P—__**Poor**_

_D—__**Dreadful**_

_T—__**Troll**_

_An * indicates a raised grade, an allowance, or a possible future retesting._

_Due to unforeseen circumstances at the time of testing, Astronomy grades are being looked at by the Hogwarts School Board and the Ministry of Magic—_

"Wait," Harry said suddenly, halting his eyes' journey down the first page of the letter. "Hogwarts has a _School Board_?"

"Indeed," Albus affirmed with a smile. "Unlike a certain Board of Governors I could name, this Board works quietly on smaller school issues, and is completely independent of the arm and opinions of the Ministry. It was this Board the Ministry angered when they took for themselves the duties of appointing teachers and trying to run the school; they overstepped their boundaries tremendously in doing so."

"Oh, I see." He went back to the letter.

_Updates on this will arrive no later than 31 August, unless rescheduled._

_We wish you luck as an upcoming N.E.W.T. student!_

_Sincerely,_

_**Allison Prescott**_

_Allison Prescott_

_Head Administrator_

"Does she always put a spark at the beginning of her signature?"

"I'm afraid I do not know the young woman personally."

"Well, then, she might not be young!"

Albus laughed. "To me, dear boy, _everyone_ is young."

The boy laughed too as he opened his results—nervousness set back in as he clutched the second bit of parchment.

_**Harry James Potter has received:**_

_Charms...__**E**_

_Herbology...__**E**_

_Divination...__**D**_

_Care of Magical Creatures...__**O**_

_Potions...__**E**_

_Transfiguration...__**O**_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts...__**O**_

_Astronomy...__**A**__*_

_History of Magic...__**D**_

"I was right to be nervous," Harry moaned.

Albus laughed again, but gently. "Don't be silly! Overall you did wonderfully—Minerva was especially pleased with your Transfiguration score, as was Hagrid with your Care of Magical Creatures one. And—wait—oh, dear, am I seeing this correctly?"

He pushed his glasses farther up his crooked nose as he examined the letters beside both _Divination_ and _History of Magic_. Harry flushed, prepared for a disappointed sigh or some other displayed form of displeasure.

None came; instead he saw Albus's blue eyes twinkle faintly. "Perhaps I should rephrase... overall you did wonderfully _apart_ from these scores. But I was personally proud to learn that you did not need a Patronus display to help your Defense Against the Dark Arts grade."

He smiled at Harry, who laughed upon realizing that the headmaster was only playing games with him—that he really _was_ very pleased.

_Knock, knock, knock, knock._

"Come in," Albus called happily. The twinkle in his eyes grew. Harry suspected that the man already knew who was on the other side of the door.

Ron and Hermione burst in, looking equally happy to have found Harry at last. The latter laughed inwardly upon noticing the remnants of birthday cake around Ron's mouth—they couldn't have been looking for _too_ long, then.

"Hey, Hermione, Ron."

"Harry, here you are! Oh—and you too, Professor..."

"Indeed so. Are you here to take my favorite pupil away?"

"Oh, just for a while," Ron wheedled, his equally-blue eyes pleading. "Just to—erm—compare O.W.L. scores, yeah, and get some fresh air..."

The headmaster sighed. "I couldn't deny you such a studious request, Ronald." Ron blushed at the veiled, gentle sarcasm. Albus's voice then turned serious. "But if you go, I do ask that you be careful. Even with so many qualified wizards around, worse things have happened..."

Elated, Harry jumped up and followed his friends out; they were barely in the hallway when Hermione asked what Harry's scores _really_ were. Ron muttered something about wishing he'd used another excuse; she ignored him.

"I got seven O.W.L.s," Harry told them, and named them off.

"Yes!" Ron grinned. "So did I!"

"What about you, Hermione?"

"Perfect, Harry, _naturally_," Ron announced sardonically, but Hermione punched him and admitted to getting an 'Acceptable' in Astronomy, just like Harry.

"I haven't been with you _both_ in so long," Hermione then said excitedly (subtlely changing the subject, Harry noticed). "I think we all have a lot to talk about, don't you?"

A familiar flicker crossed Harry's mind. _**Harry? Are you there?**_

_Rivers is back...? Well, well. In that case..._

—_Why, yes, Hermione. It looks like everyone will be talking for quite a while_.

* * *

That's it. I'm done with this chapter.

Kitsune-Arii: _Finally_.

Spell Definition time. ...Oh wait, none this chapter. Never mind.

How can I apologize for the suckiest wait time ever (almost a year)? I can't, except to cry and prostrate before you all and humbly beg that you forgive and love me again. And review. (I'm so shameless.)

The next chapter is called _You Really Care?_. See you then.


	10. You Really Care?

Okay, so it's Chapter Ten. Shocker - so early! And it probably looks beastly because _I typed it ALL on Word._ That's right, all 26 or 27 pages of it.

And now that I'm done, Chapter Eleven and _The Chain of Souls_ chapter 4 are next.

* * *

**Chapter Ten:** You Really Care?

* * *

"I need you to concentrate for me…stay calm…"

Harry frowned, straining already to find any sort of _calm_ center in what he saw as the center of a swirling vortex of memories. The person he sought to block lay beyond the cyclone, safe, directing the storm around him.

"You're very close, Harry," Albus whispered; sound was distracting. "Use your magic. Seek me out!"

_I'm __**trying**__…_

But it wasn't working so well. Over time he had realized that this was not so much because of the memories' quality when the Legilimens pulled at them—good or bad, Harry would become fixed on watching the memory, in a way **reliving** it. And using the magic of his own mind to even find any Legilimens was impossible for him. At least he had _felt_ Snape's battering-ram technique. Sensing Albus, who tiptoed in through cracks in his mental shields and found his memories with all the grace of playing a harp, was like trying to score higher than Hermione on an exam. _Any_ exam.

_I'd almost _take_ an exam over this_.

_I heard that._ Albus's amused thoughts overlapped his own, and when they resumed Harry could hear these words loud and clear through the memory storm. _I will stop for a few moments, let you catch your breath and get your bearings._

Things slowed down to normal speed. As Harry's memories retreated from the forefront of his mind and he stopped shaking, he felt another presence, a second tingle tracing the edges of his mind, for the second time in two weeks.

_**I want to talk to you. Now.**_

_No!_ Harry panicked, noting Albus's continuing retreat in another part of his mind. The headmaster, at Harry's own private insistence, still knew nothing about his mysterious link to a still-more-mysterious person—particularly one who wasn't a wizard yet somehow knew about Voldemort. For now, until he himself knew more, Harry was desperate to keep it that way.

_Rivers, go! Alb—my teacher is inside my mind __right now__. If he senses you, bad things could happen! I don't suppose you're in for any difficult questioning just now?_

_**I—no, but—this is really—you need to know this!**_

_Please, Rivers—leave. Just for now—until it's safe for us to talk without being overheard._

_**But—if he's your teacher, don't you trust him?**_

_I trust him more than you could ever know. And now that you've been enlightened, go—please?_

The other boy left swiftly, purposely brushing lightly against Albus's own retreating aura on the way out—Harry could have strangled him then, but he got a slight satisfaction out of next feeling Rivers's reaction—shock and bewilderment.

_Harry?_ Albus had halted. He sounded slightly suspicious. _Is everything all right? …I thought I sensed something…_

_It's nothing. Don't worry, okay?_

At last, at last, all outward interference left Harry, and his mind and thoughts were his own again. His greatest safe haven was, at last, safe. He felt more relieved than he could ever remember feeling in his life.

He relaxed into his chair and Albus let him, glancing admiringly around the room every once in a while. It was the headmaster who had suggested they practice Occlumency (and Legilimency, if they got around to it) here in the library, surrounded by helpful books and comfortable, newly-freed cushiony chairs. Harry secretly suspected that their lessons were being held in the bowels of Grimmauld Place so that they would not be interrupted, _and_ so that Albus could spend extra time with him without fear of the same.

_But why, I wonder? It's obvious that he's busy—he's gotten more letters here in two weeks than anyone I've ever seen! So why, then, does he still stay?_

"Are you ready?"

Harry jumped. Hadn't he just closed his eyes?

"You've been dozing for about ten minutes." This was said helpfully, as Albus had noted the boy's puzzled frown.

_**Is it safe **__now__**?**_

_Go away, Rivers. Very, very far away. I haven't forgotten that little stunt you pulled._

_**Infant wizards, **_Rivers mumbled, and made himself scarce again.

"I…think I need a refresher on the basics of Occlumency." _Really badly. The _basic_ basics._

"Of course. On what in particular?"

"Erm… everything… sorry."

His blue eyes were gentle. "You have nothing to apologize for."

Albus leaned forward in the crimson-stained chair, gazing swiftly and surely into Harry's eyes. Harry felt something stir behind them, tickle the edges of his mind.

_Not Rivers this time… Albus?_

_Excellent,_ his headmaster praised, and then reverted to speaking aloud once more. "But I am jumping ahead again! Let me begin at the beginning, from which all manner of things come. But to do so, I will need you to close your eyes…. Let me explain. As a novice in the art of Occlumency, your vision really hinders your ability to catch on to learning how to Occlude—and, really, it is not a _needed_ sense, anyway—"

Harry couldn't stop himself from blurting out: "But—I thought you had to maintain eye contact with a Legilimens in order for them to breach your mind?"

"Oh, not at all—at least, not a good bit of the time. With less talented Legilimenses, perhaps, or with someone who simply prefers the technique—I assume Professor Snape did this with you?"

Harry only nodded, gritting his teeth. Anger kept his voice captive. _Another lie._

"And yet Lord Voldemort did not have to meet your eyes to accidentally touch your mind last year, yes?"

_I'd forgotten about that!_ But memories of this reminded Harry of how he'd been tricked into believing Sirius was in danger last June, which consequently led to his death. His throat constricted painfully.

Albus's mind had glanced against his. "I'm sorry, Harry. …To answer your question, no—talented Legilimens Masters, such as myself, can even contact someone from a good distance away—that is, access their thoughts—where they are not visible. As I said before, sight is not an essential; rather, it is your _inner_ vision, your mind's eye, which will see for us now."

Harry sat still, taking all of this in.

"By the way…" Albus locked his fingers together. Curiosity radiated from him in waves. "Who might this 'Rivers' be that you mentioned?"

Harry went rigid. It didn't take him long to suddenly develop a profound interest in a bit of airborne dust, circling tantalizingly over a pair of books. He let his silence say all he needed it to—this was the subject he would not speak of, under any circumstances. It was closed, completely.

"Harry?"

The bit of fluffy dust landed gently on the very edge of the book pile. He kept his green eyes firmly on that hovering pinprick of white.

At last Albus said softly, "Ah. I take it _this_ is what I must not know?"

"Part of it, yes." He was amazed that his voice came out steady. Feeling like he was hurting Albus's feelings was not any type of pleasant; he idly thought of how ironic it was that they were similar in this way, in that they had to hold in important secrets for the benefit of all…

"I told you that I understood, and would let you do things your way," Albus confirmed, voice still soft, "and I will stand by what I said. That I _do_ promise." When Harry gave him a grateful smile he continued, voice still soft, gentle. "Now then, Occlumency… yes…surrender your vision whenever you are ready, Harry."

Harry did so, asking as he did: "Albus, I'm just wondering… how is it that you and I can mentally communicate the way we can? When Sn—when _Professor_ Snape would enter my mind last year, that never happened…"

"Certainly it did. However, as I'm sure you know, every person's relationship with others is different—you and I, for example, have drastically different interactions with Professor Snape, and thus our minds 'touch' differently. You and he heartily dislike one another, unfortunately—and because communications such as ours require those involved to have a positive relationship, what little "speaking between minds" there may be goes completely unnoticed by you both, and still would be."

"So, you believe…" Harry struggled to think it through. "You think that since our relationship is good, we can sometimes understand each other's thoughts, even talk back and forth?"

"The latter, yes; the former, possibly." Albus smiled. "Are you ready now, little one?"

"Yes, I'm ready."

"Concentrate for me… yes, good, excellent." Harry sat up straighter at the praise. "Try and focus on one memory in particular, just for now, as a start…do you have it? Yes? All right, now—I wish you to render your mind blank. _Absolutely_ blank. Once you have done this—it may take a moment, Harry, be patient—I want you to concentrate on building a wall, or anything that will keep me out of your mind; _without_ betraying any emotion. If you tie even the slightest bit of feeling to anything a Legilimens might be seeking, they will use that feeling as a road map to the now-naked memory. That, I believe, is why you initially had trouble learning this—previously you attached how you felt about your memories to each, and Severus did not correct this common impulse—nor, it seems, did he aid in very much else."

_He doesn't sound too happy about that. –_Finally, _Snape gets in trouble!_

Albus continued, glancing concernedly his way before brooding on his wayward staff member's actions over the past term. "He has caused you to fear any breach to your mind, however gentle. Even now I feel certain areas of your subconscious flinch against me, though I mean you no harm… I am not pleased."

Waves of fury… a bit of disappointment… mixed with suspicion he couldn't decipher… these alien feelings and more now brushed against Harry's evolving shield, and he gave a physical shiver as he felt it waver. The emotions all became tinged with surprise, and then were quickly withdrawn.

"My mistake, Harry—I forgot how closely we were connected. …Now I will attempt to see the memory you have hidden from me. Do not worry, I will enter gently at first—we will progress depending on how strongly you can block me out, not with any exam.

"I will count to three. One…"

_Relax. Relax and block._

"Two…"

_This is your mind. He is the intruder. Albus is not in control here—you are._

"_Three_…"

The vortex began again, more slowly this time. Harry felt at first a flicker of an alien-yet-gentle presence graze against the edges of his mind, then slip in without warning—he gasped softly, tried to make his mind blank again, but his surprise at his block failing so easily ruined his concentration…

_A black dog, shaggy hair, thinner than he'd been at eleven years old… a dog that carried a very important newspaper in its jaws…_

_No… a smaller black dog, still massive, its fur near his hand, licking his fingers… Sirius, but not Sirius… his own response to the animal… Dennis Flippens's surprised face…_

No.

He took a few slow, panting breaths, was hardly aware that he was taking them. _Calm down. Stay in control. Your mind, your rules._

And then he had an idea—a brilliant one if he did say so himself.

He focused on a blank space, let it expand and pour over the nooks and crannies he imagined were in his head. Gradually, agonizingly, that blankness touched and then covered the memory Albus was currently examining, washed it into nothingness, emptiness—he struggled to feel no pride when he felt the headmaster's surprise. The screaming vortex halted just as quickly as it had started, and when Harry's vision refocused he saw his 'attacker'; Albus was smiling at him.

"Remarkable… Are you sure you learned very little of Occlumency principles last year?"

"When I wasn't angry, I was lost," Harry admitted, puzzled himself. "Why do you—?"

"You have already developed a strategy for confusing one who would invade your privacy—by projecting that your mind is but an empty room. It startled me, I admit, to go from examining my goal to feeling as though I had entered an empty hospital room by chance!"

Harry shrugged, playing off his own wonder. "I had to clear my head to get to sleep during the first weeks of summer… I think I was following your advice, you know, from last year."

"Then you have done well. It has helped you tremendously. …I want to practice this skill with you today, but first I must ask… were those two _different_ dogs in your memory?"

"Yes. One was Sirius."

"I could tell. And the other…?"

"It's not important."

"Harry, it is related to you. It is _automatically_ important."

The boy sighed. "It was just a dog that belonged to a guy I know, who lives in Surrey. It looked a lot like Sirius… like his Animagus form, I mean…"

"What boy?"

"His name was Dennis. His dog is perfectly normal. Its name is Callistan, and he's very friendly."

"Why, then, do you associate this memory with panic and fear?"

_Damn._ "That's how I felt at the time, that's all—I thought of Sirius when I saw him. …It was just a moment of weakness."

Albus gave a morose sigh. "Feeling sorrow for a lost loved one is no weakness, Harry. Seeing such a potent reminder of Sirius, so soon after his death, would have tested you beyond even my own imagining."

Harry sighed, put his head between his fingers. After a moment he felt light fingers in his hair, which moved under his chin to lift it, so that their eyes would meet.

"Are you ready to try again?"

"Ready."

_So determined,_ Albus thought with an inner smile, and spoke still more gently. "All right, then… _Legilimens._"

_He was here again… imprisoned within his memories, the (fortunately) only thing he had left of those nights in detention…_

_The quill trembled in his dominant hand. He had done this the previous night, had come here for so many nights that they had blurred into one big mass of pain and restraint and hatred and weakness. And there would be more to come tomorrow._

"_It isn't wise for you to tarry, Mr. Potter."_

_Umbridge's voice. That horrible sickly-sweet voice, that tone supported by sick false air, blown out to screech and whine and pound upon the eardrums of all who heard it. Especially him. _Particularly_ him._

_He swallowed down bile and forced his shuddering hand to the parchment, swept from right to left so quickly that he was surprised he'd written the words out right. He had to bite his lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from screaming aloud as new, fresh pain sank its teeth into his hand—blood oozing from fresh word-shaped cuts that spelled _'I must not tell lies'_ cruelly into his skin._

_It had begun, of course—and now that it had, Merlin knew how many times he'd have to cut his own hand open tonight before it satisfied her—_

A voice hoarse with fury made itself heard, though Harry was so lost in the horror of the half-dream, half-memory that he could hardly recognize it…

"_No—she—did—NOT._"

It felt like he was being forcibly ejected from a bucking broom—he was cast out of his own memories so fiercely that he fell out of his chair and to the floor, panting softly.

A sound of terrible rage made him shiver with apprehension—he tried to see something, _anything_, but disoriented as he was, his vision was blurry, as if he had his glasses but was underwater.

Albus's presence was gone from his mind. Harry could, if he concentrated, sense a leftover residue of rage that did not belong to him, tempered with a sweet-and-sour mixture of horror and sympathy.

Rivers's voice, from out of nowhere: _**Are you all right? What happened?**_

He was numb; no shock or annoyance could reach him. _I'm fine. Get out of my head—please? I need to think. I need to get up, to put myself back together…_

_**Good luck with that.**_

"…I'll kill her."

Harry's sight abruptly, blessedly cleared; he focused on his protector, also on the cold, firm library floor, his breathing dangerously even for being around so much dust. Twin torches blazed in his blue eyes—the boy had never seen him look so powerful _and_ angry, even when Harry himself had been in danger in that very moment.

Tentatively he asked, "Albus…?"

Albus did not speak. But he turned his head to meet Harry's eyes, and the boy drew back at what he found in them. Where was his kind look, or his sympathetic one, or even his surprised one? No such innocent expressions were in sight on that tightened, lined face.

"Albus?"

"How many times was this—did she do _this_ to you?" He thrust a hand out at the boy's head, at his hand, which he could not seem to look at full on.

Harry faltered. "What—I—"

And then Albus was at his side faster than if he'd Apparated; he gripped the long-scarred hand so tightly that Harry felt dizzy, and stared at it for a very long time, expressionlessly; then his rage seemed to return, and he shook the boy's shoulders abruptly. He was so uncharacteristically _angry_, and Harry could not tell who he was angry with…

"_How many times, Harry?_"

He was reduced to stammering. "I—I—I… I don't remember… pretty often, once s-she realized that I w-wasn't going to stop talking about Voldemort… Albus, are you all—_no, don't_!"

With an irate howl, Albus rose to his full height and sprang for the library's sole entrance and exit; Harry, knowing instinctively what was going on, sprang to stop him and managed to grip the shoulders of his robes; but the headmaster was furious, moving ceaselessly, and stronger than he had expected him to be.

"For—crying—out—loud—_wait!_"

"_I—will—__**kill**__ her_," Albus managed through clenched teeth, struggling to get free of Harry's grip. "How DARE she! Using an _illegal Blood Quill_—claiming she was "disciplining" them—when really she was **torturing** them, oh God…"

His breath came out in angry pants. His voice rose.

"She tortured you…and so many other students, and I thought—I swear to God, _I'll kill her!_"

"Albus, _no! Please!_"

The headmaster strained and fought to free himself, eyes wide with the madness only rage could bring; and Harry moved in front of him, so as to better prevent him from reaching the door.

Albus's skin started to consciously heat; when it became too hot to hold Harry yelped and let go, soothing his fingers. He heard the other shove the door open, break into another run, and shouted after him: "For Merlin's sake, what _good_ will it do—chasing after her for something that's already happened?"

Silence.

Harry sank weakly into his chair, rubbing his forehead: his scar was prickling…

Soft footsteps in the dimly-lit hallway, returning, coming closer to where he recovered his own breath. Albus appeared at the door again and did not say a word for a full five seconds.

_He came back after all._

They met each other's eyes. Suddenly, the old man took five steps into the room, walking faster and faster until he would have been at a run if not for the books he was surrounded by; Harry found himself being pulled to his feet, and then pulled into an embrace he didn't understand.

"Harry."

Harry could not speak. Relief nestled in his heart—_he came back, he didn't go, he wasn't hurt_—but confusion bloomed in his brain. Did Albus really see, or had he come back because he saw that he had upset his student?

"Harry." There was a kiss to the top of his forehead. "You are so much _better, _more of the _Light_, than I am sometimes…"

Ah—so he _did_ understand, then.

He could not help but ask again, to break the quiet moment whose origins he wasn't sure of. "Albus… what good would it do?"

"What good would it do?" The old man's voice was soft with pain. "Oh, Harry, it would do a world of good, too much for either of us to truly fathom. While parents have sent more Howlers than you can imagine to the Ministry to complain about Dolores Umbridge's stay at Hogwarts alone, the Ministry has refused to cooperate or even distribute heavy punishment her way themselves—but her wretched quill is _evidence_, Harry, evidence of what she did to you and so many others." He took Harry's hand in his. "I could use that evidence to destroy her, even if I did not physically murder her."

"But why even bother?" Harry resisted the urge to shout. "She's gone now, she'll never come back to Hogwarts again; killing her would just be—be something Voldemort would want—"

Albus made an angry noise. "Do you not see? By letting that—that _woman_, if she is even that, do as she did and go unpunished, you are forgetting how she tortured you. How she hurt you. How she interfered with your efforts to teach your fellow students how to defend themselves, and with your efforts to contact Sirius—"

Rage flared in Harry's throat. _Don't you bring Sirius into this!_

"…Then I will not." Albus had caught the direction of the boy's protective thoughts toward his fallen godfather, and so followed his wishes. His voice then hardened, though—the anger that made him look insane had returned. "But she misused her power to hurt you directly—_you_, more than any other. For that, her life is indeed forfeit. You will not argue that with me, Harry—it is set in stone. One way or another, I will see her ruined."

His scar prickled again. _Ouch._

"Albus…"

The headmaster sighed wearily. The fire in his eyes had dimmed, was replaced by heavy guilt and despair, punctuated with pain and horror. He moved slightly away, sat mutely at Harry's feet, and murmured softly, "I'm sorry."

"It wasn't your fault. It never was."

"Not my _fault_?" Albus's voice rose and trembled, nearly broke. Bitterness laced every pained syllable. "Why, I set it all in motion! By trying to _protect_ you, I allowed _this_ to happen! By distancing myself from you, I had no idea what exactly that vile witch was doing to your hand…your poor hand…" He took Harry's scarred hand between both of his own again, but gently this time, and kissed the place where the letters were fading.

Harry blushed, now uncomfortable at being the center of so much of the man's attention. Strange, how he would have demanded this last year, or close to it. "I…look, just promise me that you'll forget this—let this go, all right?"

_Let it __go__? Forget?_ "But, Harry—"

"No, listen. We've got Voldemort to worry about; Umbridge is nothing—_nothing, Albus_—compared to him, even if she's cruel enough to _be_ a Death Eater. It's over now. _Please_, promise me that you'll leave this alone…"

"_Harry_," Albus pleaded, with a moan in his voice. He wanted revenge like he had seldom wanted it before; the desire was eating him alive.

Harry only looked at him, ever unyielding.

Their silent standoff was short and fierce; but Harry eventually came out triumphant, and Albus sighed one last time.

"I will…honor your request."

_He didn't promise._

Harry had the distinct feeling that he wouldn't be hearing the last of this.

* * *

"Sounds like it was really harsh," Ron conceded a few days later.

They were in Diagon Alley, walking down the lane toward the Apothecary—Hermione and Harry needed new supplies, while Ron was still debating on whether to take Potions or not—his 'Acceptable' grade officially qualified him, but all three knew that Snape had other ideas.

"Come anyway," Harry had pleaded. "I'm doing it, even though Snape'll chuck me out as soon as he sees me…it won't be the same without you!"

But Ron was still undecided.

"How is Professor Dumbledore now?" Hermione presently asked.

Harry shrugged. "I haven't really seen him in a while. He's overreacting to the whole "Blood Quill" thing—whenever I talk to him he insists that nothing's wrong with him, but it's like he's…I dunno…_clouded_ from me. It's like trying to reason with madness incarnate; his eyes have approaching thunderstorms in them."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. It was obvious to them both that their friend was hurt by Albus's absence, but neither wanted to touch the subject for fear of sparking Harry's ire—or, worse, his inverted moods and silences. It had, after all, happened quite a lot last year. If Harry wanted them to know about the relationship he seemed to be building with Albus, then he would give them every wonderful and terrible detail—it was as simple as that. They had only to wait.

"He seems so _angry_," Harry murmured. "I've never seen him like this before…he wasn't this furious when he came to save us all at the Ministry, or when he discovered that Moody was a fake a couple of years ago—well, maybe he _was_ that angry then and just did a better job at hiding it. I just wish I knew _why_ he's so upset now…what's bothering him…"

Ron gave him a disbelieving look.

Hermione took his right hand gently, as Albus had done a few days prior, and ran her index finger over the hypocritical words etched into it; Harry flinched.

"Isn't it obvious?" she said kindly. "He's troubled by _this_, Harry! All year he didn't know a single thing about Umbridge's stupid quill, and to find out only a little while ago—it must be driving him mad—killing him, even! _Of course_ he wants to do something about it now—we all did the moment _we_ found out…"

"He's still overreacting," Harry insisted. "Taking it too far. And I don't think he's done…"

His friends stared incredulously at him as they rounded a corner; Ron was so distracted that he ran smack into Katie Bell, whose arms were full of packages, and nearly knocked her over (being the taller of the two).

"Watch it, Weasley," she snapped, but her bright eyes were teasing. "Hey, Harry."

Ron was reduced to stammering. "Katie! I'm sorry—I just wasn't watching—"

"Hey, Captain," Harry said, cutting across his best friend.

Katie's eyes lit up. "How did you know McGonagall made me Quidditch Captain this year?"

"Weeell," Harry counted off, grinning, "Wood's long gone, Angelina and Alicia graduated last year… Fred and George left… you're next in line from the old team, Katie."

"And how good it feels," Katie joked, and then gained a nostalgic, wistful smile. "I do miss them all, though. We're all that's left of the original team…"

"I know. I miss them, too."

"I just can't help but wonder…"

"What?"

"Wonder if…" Katie fingered her ponytail, then spoke very quickly, as if she had not considered her words beforehand. "Harry, take Captaincy in my place. D'you know, I've been waiting years for the honor—yet now that Professor McGonagall's chosen me, I just don't know if I'm ready for it—if I'm _good_ enough. Following in Oliver's footsteps, and Angelina's…"

"I won't be Captain," Harry said flatly. "You deserve it, Katie—and if you turn it down, you'll regret it forever. Don't throw it away."

Ron nodded enthusiastically next to him. Even Hermione gave her an encouraging smile, and it was this which seemed to boost Katie's morale—she smiled back.

"You know… I don't think I will throw it away. Captaincy of Gryffindor Quidditch stays mine." She gave them a piercing look. "So that means _you two_ will need to be in top shape if you want to make it back on _my_ team. Understood?"

"Clear as crystal," they promised her.

A call came, loud and equally clear, from up the crowded street.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Hurry _up!_ Ginny and I are practically done with shopping already, no thanks to you!"

They all jumped; Andromeda Tonks's voice carried far when she was irritated, and today was no exception: it was stifling hot, and they would have been home hours ago but for the fact that the three of them kept bumping into people they knew and lingering to look at everything.

Diagon Alley was changing—subtly but surely. While there was no obvious panic in the streets quite yet, the street's pulse seemed faster: people huddled in closer groups than they normally had, casting furtive glances everywhere; those who were on the streets would quickly retreat into their respective shops; and whispers of Dark Lords and Death Eaters came from the deepest, most secluded parts of Knockturn Alley. The place had a chilly, darker feel, even in all of the current sunlight and warmth of the day.

Katie stretched. "Hey, are you three headed to the Apothecary too? I need to restock for N.E.W.T. Potions… the stuff we're making seventh year is pretty challenging, apparently, and we'll hardly have the time to buy anything. Snape's really pulling out all of the stops."

"I can hardly wait," Harry deadpanned; Hermione kicked him and muttered "Be nice".

They set off the rest of the way (Ron called down the street to Andromeda that they'd be right back, further sparking her frustration) and soon reached the ever-dark door of the Apothecary and went inside.

"Oh hello dears!" a scrawny, pale-looking young witch with equally-pale hair called from the nearby front counter. "Do make your selections and take your time, I'm servicing a very important customer at the moment…"

Hermione pulled out a handwritten list and vanished deeper into the shop, muttering to herself; Ron followed nervously, leaving Harry and Katie alone.

"Coming? –Hey…what's wrong?"

Harry had just clapped his hand to his forehead—right over the painfully-stinging scar. _Ouch…what…?_

"It's… nothing… I'm not used to."

Katie nodded. They went around in momentary silence, collecting tail of salamander, root of Whipping Vine, and other various things Harry knew he would be grinding into powder in a little over a fortnight.

Vaguely his mind's ear eavesdropped on the conversation the skinny Apothecary witch was having with her "very important customer":

"Is there anything else I can get for you, Professor?"

"I am currently satisfied," drawled a smooth, soft, almost-mocking voice, and Harry felt his mouth fall open in a mixture of surprise and rage. "Your help in procuring me this tincture is… _appreciated_. You understand, of course, that as my own stores at the school are more than enough for my needs, I will not be returning here frequently?"

"Of course, of course, understandable, naturally … You are certain that I cannot help you with anything else? Yes? –Ah, well…" She sounded flustered, and oddly so. _Stupid of her,_ Harry thought savagely; _let him rattle you and you're as good as finished._

"How are you at Hogwarts, Severus? I hear little of your doings."

"I am hardly as popular as the headmaster these days. The school is as it has always been, and I with it—_get away from there, you foolish boy!_"

Katie Bell rushed up to Harry and pointed frantically as he jumped. "Harry! Harry, look—no, don't really _look_, Neville's going to get us all killed! _Let's go!_"

Harry searched frantically, but found nothing until he was called:

"Hi, Harry!" Neville Longbottom said, oblivious to the cauldron steaming dangerously near his leg; Harry's Seeker eyes saw, with a groan, one of the boy's loose hairs fall into the unknown concoction. "I haven't seen you since last term to thank you for all you did to help me—I made an O on my Defense O.W.L. with your help, Gran's so proud—I'm sorry I couldn't come to your birthday party, but happy sixteenth birthday anyway, and also—"

He was cut off by the witch's angry shriek just as the bubbling potion in the cauldron exploded. Hermione's own shriek of surprise sounded from somewhere near the entrance.

"_Immemor_," Katie groaned, then raised her wand and cried, "_Diluo!_"

The potion which had spilled on Neville vanished, cleaned off. Pandemonium, however, still reigned: the one potion's unforeseen detonation seemed to have set off various others across the store.

"Passable, Miss Bell," the cold, scathing voice proclaimed, growing closer to them—the Potions Master was running angrily toward Neville, but sounded not a whit out of breath as he spoke. "It looks as though _someone_ in this shop can at least apply what is learned in my class…"

Harry snarled, turning blindly to retort—

Severus Snape flew past the two Gryffindors, his cold, furious black eyes fixed on the object of his routine torture during lessons at school. His black cloak billowed out behind him, making him look more batlike than ever. Harry, still furious, moved to jump in front of Snape, confront him as he had done earlier this summer—

"_Move_, Potter!"

He rapidly found himself on the ground in a heap, just a second after his green eyes locked with Snape's infinitely dark ones. The Potions Master had pushed him to get to Neville, yell "_Finite Incantatem_" at the top of his voice, and then proceed to shout the boy down without drawing any new breath.

Ron appeared, pulling Harry to his shaking feet; Hermione, now loaded down with packages just like Katie, was giving Neville sympathetic looks.

Said Quidditch Captain now appeared at Ron's side, grimly. "I bought my stuff and yours, Harry. That witch is furious—let's get out of here. Neville will be fine. And even if he won't be…Snape's won't hesitate to hex us if we interrupt him now."

There were two things Harry had never been happier to do: follow his Captain's orders, and see a near-irate Andromeda Tonks outside the shop waiting for them, tapping a new hole in the cobbled streets.

* * *

"What? But that's so unfair!"

"And it's _final_," Andromeda Tonks said firmly in return. "You can visit the twins some other time at their Joke Shop—I've heard your brothers are quite talented at what they do. But, I say again, _we do not have time today_. All of you lot need new robes (yes, Ginny, you as well) and so here we are."

She gave Harry a particularly stern look as he went into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions; he blushed, knowing she would not easily forgive him for insisting they stop ten _more_ minutes for ice cream.

Their luck worsened still more; Ginny literally ran into Narcissa Malfoy on the latter's way out of the shop: she opened her mouth to apologize but was stopped short by the look on the pale blonde's face.

Ron's eyes narrowed; then he nearly yelped as Andromeda shunted him to one side—the better to stare at her sister.

"Narcissa," she said softly, and touched her sibling's shoulder.

Narcissa Malfoy flinched at first; then replied, icy eyes downcast, "Hello, Andromeda."

Andromeda brightened hopefully; Harry stared in wonder.

"How are you today, little sister? Did you get my letter?"

"I am well," Narcissa replied composedly, but did not answer the second question; the power of Harry's gaze had drawn her eyes, and they now stared neutrally at one another. She broke the silence.

"Potter… how surprising, to see _you_ out on a day like this."

_She expected me to be curled up crying in a corner somewhere. All the better for Voldemort to off me, I suppose…_

"Yeah, guess so," he said coolly instead. "Guess I should be _locked up_ someplace with no way out of my own head…"

Her eyes narrowed; she didn't even pause to sneer when Hermione came closer to see what was going on. "So… you would give up grief so effortlessly? A good trait for you to have—"

"_You know nothing about me,_" Harry growled, incensed again.

"—considering the fact that the Dark Lord is after your blood, and will have no one else's in your place."

"Isn't he always?" Ron asked sarcastically.

Narcissa lifted her nose higher as she glared his way with molten blue eyes—then they cooled as she returned her attention to Harry. "I give you only a warning—he is at full strength, now, and he comes for you. Number your days. Personally, I—"

"Why, good afternoon, Narcissa! It is a pleasure to see you. How are you faring?"

Everyone whipped around; Albus Dumbledore had ostensibly arrived in the middle of the group, his own blue eyes fixed on the Malfoy matron. Harry felt his eyes widen—he hadn't seen the man in _days_. Why was it that he looked better, _brighter_, than he had looked the last time they had met?

"…Greetings, Professor Dumbledore," she replied smoothly. "I am coping; it is pleasant for me to see that you are well. Your energy never seems to fade."

"It never does," Albus agreed, ever polite. "I daresay that I sometimes feel younger than you! Now, if you all will excuse me…"

He moved fluidly through the crowd; Harry felt Albus's shoulder brush his gently, meaningfully, and a warm fluttering settled in his stomach. _He didn't forget me—and he really wasn't ignoring me earlier…_

_Hello, Harry,_ came Albus's light mental voice as he disappeared inside; Harry glowed inside with the happiness of being noticed, appreciated. Hermione and Ginny saw his small smile and gave some of their own.

As if perfectly timed to ruin any happy moment, Draco Malfoy strode out of Madam Malkin's and over to his mother; his pointed face was stiff with annoyance, but his face was flushed.

"She's finally done, Mother. Let's get out of h—" His steel-gray eyes found and roved over the rest of the group. "Oh, it's _you_."

"_Malfoy_," Harry greeted him in mock-excitement. "Good to see you too. I'm happy to see that your mummy fixed your nose for you…"

Malfoy sneered at them all and pushed his way through, taking care to bump hard against Harry's same shoulder that had just been treated more gently; idly he wondered how much one shoulder could take in a day. After a last cold stare, his mother followed.

"We should go after them—Malfoy's mum," Ginny insisted once they were out of direct earshot. "What she said to you, Harry—about You-Know-Who being at full strength, _and_ her veiled insults to Sirius—"

"I insulted her enough as well," Harry retorted dismissively, noting the look on Andromeda's face: as though she had lost something precious she just barely had a hand on in the first place. "And besides, all that about Voldemort being at full strength was lies. I'd know…" He pointed to his scar, currently dormant after acting up in the Apothecary.

Andromeda made them all jump by saying, "Let's buy some fitting robes instead of discussing mental connections to Voldemort in this dear woman's shop, _shall we?_"

She patted Madam Malkin's shoulder—the woman had opened her mouth steadily wider in the last few minutes of not-so-subtle eavesdropping.

_Oops_.

* * *

The words on the page of the journal Hermione had painstakingly made for him glittered back at him in darkly-colored ink, mirroring his own thoughts.

_Where are you, Albus?_

It was good that the headmaster would be coming today to continue their Occlumency lessons—as over a week had passed in Harry's estimation since he and Albus had talked for more than a few minutes, he was beginning to feel rather neglected and lonely.

Seeing Albus in Diagon Alley had been no better—now Harry's buried doubts rose more closely to the surface than they ever had previously. _Is he happier without me around? Where has he __been__, anyway? Does he even—_

_Don't think that._

But he couldn't help finishing the morose question. _Does he even care about me?_

Despite all of the things nagging at him lately, he was doing well in perfecting the Occluding skill he had touched upon by accident—letting blankness flood his mind, a literal empty white quilt that sheltered his memories from harm. He loved being good at things, and newly excelling in Occlumency when he had been so dismal before was no exception; when Albus complimented him on his technique, or praised him in general, he flushed with pride.

He had not felt that kind of happiness in nine days. Now was past time to find out where he really stood with this man.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

He sighed. "Come on in."

Albus came in, followed by Remus, who looked about as happy as Snape did on a regular basis. Harry shut the journal hastily, but neither of them appeared to notice it—indeed, Remus looked to have thunderclouds building over his head.

"Good evening, Harry," Albus said, speaking first, voice unusually grave. "I have not been able to see you in a while. How are you?"

"Fine." _Why is he controlling his voice like that?_

He found out why in a few seconds:

"Like hell you're _'fine'_," Lupin almost snarled. "Do try not to give us that crap, won't you?"

Harry's mouth dropped open in a blend of deep hurt and horror.

In the next second, Albus had a tight grip on Remus's shoulder; he still addressed Harry, but his now-icy blue eyes were fixed threateningly on the werewolf.

"Please do not mind him, Harry…he has at last begun to experience the grief that he previously bottled up within himself. He has been quite… _temperamental_ at times, but he is only lashing out at the world in Sirius's name. He means nothing against you—_do you, Remus?_" he now asked the young man in a warning growl, his own voice's volume now several feet higher. Harry heard the dangerous undertone lying there and noted, with awe, how frightening Albus could sound when he was feeling protective of someone.

"No, Professor," Remus replied contritely, looking a little wary—when he turned to Harry, though, he looked truly ashamed of his behavior. "I didn't mean to take my anger out on you, Harry… I'm very sorry."

"It's fine, Remus…"

Albus gave the werewolf a meaningful look—he caught it, nodded, and left swiftly. Harry watched the door blankly, unable to look at his teacher.

"I have been keeping him close to Headquarters lately," Albus explained. "It was the younger Miss Tonks who noticed his sudden tendency to disappear for long stretches of time and come back injured but wild—off on personally-driven missions fraught with danger he welcomed, I suspect…I have had to keep a firm hold on him. He is desperate to escape and fight anything that crosses his path."

"Right," said Harry vaguely; something in him was severely distracted, disconnected. "Is the full moon tonight?"

"It is. Did you happen to notice how large his pupils were, and guess?"

"I suppose."

Albus sank elegantly into a chair, studying Harry cautiously.

"Have you been practicing your Occlumency?"

"Yes."

A silver eyebrow rose. "You're rather quiet today."

"Aren't I occasionally allowed to be?"

Albus looked to be taken aback; then he closed his eyes, opened them again, appeared to force himself to keep talking. "…Right, well. Let us begin, shall we?"

This practice session was quieter than the few, spaced-out ones previous—Harry's own set-in-stone irritation created a stronger mental defense than any he had yet been able to conjure when thinking clearly; the headmaster, puzzled, could find no way into his pupil's mind.

After twenty off-and-on minutes of this, Albus withdrew one last time and made a sound of frustration. Harry glanced up sharply from his daze and their eyes met for a heartbeat, two, three, and then four.

"Why are you unhappy, Harry?"

"I'm not."

He tried another tactic. "Did something happen while I was away?"

"No, nothing occurred while you _were away_." Harry cringed inwardly; he had put too much stress on the last few words.

The blue eyes narrowed. "I don't appreciate your tone." They softened a little bit. "But I know that something must really be bothering you for you to address me in that way, Harry."

"Yes, 'something _must_', the greatest wizard says," Harry shot back with a bite of venom in his voice. Vindictive pleasure followed by smaller touches of shame surged through him when he saw another injured look pass over Albus's face—but his point had to be made, one way or another. "I suppose you used some famous deducing magic or some complex Legilimency to figure _that_ one out, since actually, I don't know, _talking to me_ would be a waste of your precious time—"

"What—no! It is not like that at all!" His eyes held flickers of his differing emotions, confusion and panic. "I knew only because of how you have spoken to me, acted around me—I would never, _ever_ use magic to discern such a thing without your permission. It would be disrespectful!"

_And he still doesn't get it._

"I only wish to know what has happened since I have been gone—"

"That's _right_," Harry began to yell, heedless of his words now in his pain and anger and renewed loneliness. "YOU HAVEN'T BEEN HERE IN OVER A WEEK! WHAT DO YOU THINK THAT SAYS TO ME, PROFESSOR, HUH? WAS I JUST SUPPOSED TO WAIT HERE LIKE A GOOD LITTLE BOY WHILE YOU WENT OFF AND ENJOYED SOME TIME WITHOUT ME?"

Albus had paled as he listened to his child's rant, which showed no sign of breaking off soon—at the last part he began shaking his head from side to side in denial, a few tears emerging from his eyes and racing down his cheeks.

"DON'T YOU SHAKE YOUR HEAD AT ME! YOU HAVEN'T SHOWN YOURSELF HERE, SENT ME A LETTER, _ANY_ KIND OF MESSAGE FOR NINE DAYS WHEN YOU _PROMISED_ YOU'D COMMUNICATE WITH ME—THAT YOU WOULDN'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKES THAT GOT SIRIUS KILLED! AND I _SAW_ YOU IN DIAGON ALLEY! SO, DID YOU FINALLY GET AROUND TO ANSWERING THOSE LETTERS YOU COULDN'T GET TO WHILE YOU WERE _BABYSITTING_ ME?"

Softly Albus replied, "I was happy that day because I knew that I would see you. I had missed you too, you see."

It was as if all of the steam—all of the fight—had been sucked out of him; Harry sat and massaged his throat and croaked as if he had been yelling for hours instead of moments. His insides felt hollow with pain, and that pain was not from his brief shouting stint.

What had he been all of this time to this man? Every time Harry thought he had Albus Dumbledore figured out, the man changed direction on him, and left him staring at an out-of-date map of his mind. All the years of his life but one he had been under Dumbledore's care, and he had been alternatively ignored, paid some attention, sent away, brought back, praised, rebutted, scolded, protected, and—so the man claimed—loved. But was he, perhaps, hated instead? How could one _do_ so many of the things Albus Dumbledore had done in connection with him, with Harry Potter, and claim love as the explanation to it all?

_I…have to find out._

"…I don't want any more crap…any more lies. Just _please_, tell me the truth. _What am I to you?_"

"Harry, I—"

"I. Am. _Serious_. Where do I stand with you? What do I mean to you, if anything at all? Do you really care about me at all, or is this just some noble scheme you have to protect me until I'm strong enough to off Voldemort? Tell me the truth! _What am I to you?_"

Silence cloaked his impassioned words, choked them so that the quiet seemed to hurt Harry's ears—it was so absolute.

"Harry," Albus said calmly at last. "Come here."

"_I want the truth, Albus!_" Harry cried, and then could not stop a sob from leaving his lips; he sat—sank—down and felt his shoulders shake. Loneliness threatened anew to strangle him.

"Come to me, Harry," Albus repeated patiently. "And I will tell you why I have been away for so long, and told you nothing of it."

New tears streamed down his face as he complied—obedient even when furiously angry and disconsolate at the same time. He went over and sat in a nearby chair, still shaking.

Albus reached into his robes, pulled out a tied and rolled-up parchment, and handed it to Harry; the latter took it mutely, wiping his tears on his sleeve. The lines seemed to jump out at him.

**By Order of the Ministry of Magic**

_We order that the accused and previously convicted Sirius Black be acquitted of all charges, on account of lack of substantial evidence and unreliable testimony._

BY ORDER OF THE WIZENGAMOT.

Signed,

_**Amelia Bones**_

_Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_**Ministry of Magic**_

_Well done, Ministry—after the fact,_ he half-acknowledged, bitterly. But most of him was steadily melting, coming out of his numb, angry state.

Impulsively, he buried his head in the headmaster's shoulder and cried silently. Gradually, he sensed fingers stroking his hair, moving down to the nape of his neck. _My god,_ he thought, _how can I have so much happiness and sadness, all wrapped up in one prophecy-controlled life?_

"Little one," Albus crooned tenderly.

"You… really… _do_ care…about me…" Harry hiccoughed into his robes, almost choking on sobs.

"I do. Of course I do. I'm so _sorry_ that I made you think otherwise, even for a moment. I should have written, sent you some sort of message—but I was so focused on how happy you would be with this that I was not focused much on how you might be feeling while I was gone. A reversal of the previous year, I believe."

"How…did you…_get_…this?"

"I have recently been searching the halls of the Ministry of Magic," Albus explained, "seeking out this very thing. It was much more difficult than I expected it to be—I was mainly turned away or deferred—but I had more luck using the—ah—_persuasion_ that accompanies my regained position among those halls."

Harry dimly remembered that the headmaster had regained several titles over the summer, one of which might have helped him out tremendously: that of Chief Warlock of the mentioned Wizengamot. He made a sound that was a mixture of laughter and a strangled cry of pain.

"Shush…" the headmaster soothed. "Fudge has lately made himself scarce to keep the angry owls away, but I wanted the aid of no one close to _him_. You will be happy to know that I saw no sign of Dolores Umbridge, which was perhaps more in her favor than mine.

"As you can see, I at last found Amelia Bones and, once I explained the situation, she readily agreed to clear Sirius's name for you and him both. I am supposed to give you a message from her as well: she says she is very impressed with the way you conducted yourself at your hearing last year, and she thanks you for the "Outstanding" O.W.L. you helped her niece, Susan, procure."

"I didn't—she did all of the work herself. It wasn't like I sat everyone's Defense exam _for_ them…"

"Oh, stop being modest!" Albus laughed, having brightened considerably when he noticed that Harry was gradually feeling and looking better. "You did every one of your group members a great service last year. And might I point out how flattered I was to discover that you'd all unanimously named said group after me?" He ruffled Harry's hair fondly with his hand; his eyes were bright again.

"The name was Ginny's idea," Harry told him. "But we all liked it—it was also in Hermione's handwriting on the parchment, but it was Cho Chang who thought of the initials in the first place…"

"So, in short," Albus broke in, his eyes now twinkling teasingly, "each young girl the press and the school have strongly 'connected' you to had a hand in the naming…"

"_Albus!_"

"You should get used to things like this, Harry. I'm going to tease you, catch you off your guard like this, much more often."

Harry pretended to pout. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

Smiling slightly, Albus kissed the top of the boy's hair briefly and addressed him gently but firmly. "You are my child, Harry—which is more of an honor for me than it is for you. That is what I consider you to be; _that_ is what you are to me. You are one of the most important people in my world, and as such I am sworn to protect you from any and all dangers to not only your life but your well-being. Even so, I will still occasionally treat you as the child you no longer are—do not protest, little one, I cannot help it. It is simply the way I am sometimes wont to see you."

Harry sighed in a contented sort of way.

"I _love_ you, Harry—my son, my boy. Do not let anyone tell you differently.

"…Now, it is late, and so I suggest that you get to bed—we'll continue Occlumency another day, when we are both more level-headed. I must attend to Remus, see that he will be well tonight. …And one more thing, Harry—if you're going to stay up and write in that journal for a while, make sure you don't fall asleep on your present again, yes? I imagine that that must have been very uncomfortable for you and the journal both." He dried the tears still on Harry's face.

Harry's smile was surprised and flattered. _He really _has_ watched me closely after all_…

* * *

And that is it. Seriously, that's Chapter Ten. And it's Wednesday night 11/10/10, which means it's probably Friday afternoon that I will post it. _Yeah_.

**Today**, 11/12, is one of my own characters' birthday! Happy birthday, Nero!

* * *

_**Spell Definitions**_:

_Immemor_—from a good friend of mine, who wrote me out a HUGE list of spells I can use in _Lost Flash_. Thanks, **Darthbethy**! …Anyway, not really a spell. If I remember correctly, Katie is calling Neville forgetful, or otherwise pointing out his poor memory. Not surprising.

_Diluo_—Wow, my memory sucks tonight. I believe this one has something to do with "cleaning off", if Neville is anything to go by.

* * *

**There will be a Deleted Scene for this chapter**.

Actually, that's a lie—there will be the first ever _Alternate_ scene for this chapter. Seriously, I've written… six now? This upcoming one is THE COOLEST ONE I have ever written… and I love number six.

So it's called _Doing Something Reckless_. Cookie to anyone who re-reads Chapter 10 and guesses who it's about.

Chapter Eleven is called _Homecoming_. Harry _finally_ goes to Hogwarts! Are you pumped or what?


End file.
